


Nature Boy

by Snabulous



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Caterpillars, Coming of Age, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic, Metaphors for sexuality and religion, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Stealing, T'hy'la, The psuedo-magic AU nobody asked for, Trees, Very Very Non-Canonical Timeline At That, hand holding, kind of, non-canonical timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snabulous/pseuds/Snabulous
Summary: The story of a young boy on an unfamiliar planet who makes friends with the trees.





	1. Catalpa

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to my amazing beta, Emily, without whom I would have given up on this a long time ago.
> 
> Also, just as a note, the boys are thirteen, and I'm honestly not sure which universe I wrote this about. For me, it's kind of a mix of both, I suppose. I hope that isn't confusing to anyone.
> 
> The of the story title is from a song of the same name composed by eden ahbez, originally sung by Nat King Cole. (The Singers Unlimited version is the best version imo [also Leonard Nimoy did a cover of it once, which is something I did not know when I began writing this haha].)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock arrives to Earth.

The planet Earth is not similar to Vulcan.

It is class M planet with a largely nitrogen and oxygen atmosphere, containing only trace amounts of other elements. The atmosphere is also thicker, which necessitates a slightly more conscious effort to breathe than is generally preferable to Vulcan natives. Additionally, the gravitational pull of the planet is not as strong, often causing periods of instability to those who are unaccustomed to it, though Vulcans are usually able to prepare beforehand and thus are not so affected.

The planet is tilted on an axis, resulting in a wide variance in the temperatures across the globe, reaching as low as negative one hundred twenty-eight degrees and as high as one hundred sixteen degrees. It it worth mentioning that both of the locations that reach those temperatures every year are inhabited.

Besides the physical features, the flora and fauna of Earth are much more plentiful than that of Vulcan. The biodiversity is objectively astonishing when compared to that of many other planets in the galaxy. Billions of animals roam the planet, countless species of plants cover every continent, life existing in even the most extreme of locations. The most prevalent of these species are the intelligent beings known as Terrans. Terrans have been warp capable for over three centuries, and they have managed to, at least on a general scale, overcome their violent history, though little can be said of their continued emotionalism.

These are things that Spock knows. He has done his research. Anything there is to know about the planetary and biological aspects of Earth, he knows it, quoted directly from a textbook, but he is quickly discovering that, like Vulcan and Earth, there is a great difference between knowing and experiencing.

For example, despite his knowledge of the Terran gravitational pull, when Spock stepped out of the ambassadorial issue Federation shuttlecraft with his mother and father, his muscle memory betrayed him, and he stumbled quite ungracefully and nearly fell. His father gave this slight a mere glance, but Spock knew that it was catalogued and impeccably filed away nonetheless. He had been embarrassed, but he did not show it on his face.

Spock’s father, Ambassador Sarek, left almost immediately after their landing. His diplomatic duties as the Vulcan ambassador to the tense Federation-Melkotian negotiations will require much time and dedication. Spock will not see his father for two months if the negotiations end on schedule. Both he and his mother have gone longer than this without seeing Ambassador Sarek, so it will not be a distressing time for either of them.

Or, rather, previous data suggests that Spock’s mother, Lady Amanda, will not experience distress during the two month period during which she will not see her husband. Spock’s mother is a variable, the x in an ever-changing equation, and her emotional, fully human reactions are never quite predictable. Spock has long given up attempting to do so, instead, learning to interpret and respond to emotionalism by gathering as much data on the subject as possible. But nothing is ever conclusive with human minds.

One bit of data that he recently collected is that his mother changes rather abruptly when she is on Earth. She has removed her scarves, for example. Almost immediately after her husband left, she uncovered her hair, seeming to relish it. It likely gives her a certain sense of freedom from the Vulcan traditions that she follows for the sake of her Vulcan family. But, more importantly, she has also begun to _act_ differently. For his entire life on Vulcan, he has watched his mother display extraordinary logic for a human. She is highly intelligent and unwaveringly respectful of her husband's culture. After years of practice, she does not often reveal emotion anywhere but her eyes, which remain the one aspect of her expression she has never been able to control. She does not smile on Vulcan.

But Spock and Lady Amanda have now been on Earth for six point four hours, and she has smiled a total of eight times since Ambassador Sarek took his leave. Even now, as she speaks to a man with the hovercar rental agency, a regular, ordinary man who does not even know the significance of it, she is smiling. It is a small thing, barely a curve of the lips, but it is difficult for Spock to focus on anything else. Like his father, he is cataloguing everything about it: its cause, its implications, and anything that might make it disappear. It seems to be a standard gesture among humans, but his mother is not a normal human. She is a human infused with years of complying with Vulcan social rules, operating under completely different conditions for a significant portion of her life. She should act differently than other Terrans, and yet now she does not. Spock wishes to understand her and her complexities, but it seems as though whenever he finally begins to comprehend her, something else presents itself, and he must start over again.

When his mother turns to Spock with no other intention than just to look at him (an action that she often iterates for reasons Spock is unable to identify; she would not check to see if he was still beside her as she knows he would not wander, and any other reason is beyond him), she is still smiling, but it disappears after a moment, her mind likely reverting to her long-established Vulcan habits.

Spock makes note of that as well. Cataloguing, analyzing, remembering.

* * * * *

Hovercars are not, nor have they ever been, Spock’s preferred mode of transportation. He is prone to motion sickness, a weakness and inconvenience Spock would prefer to live without. This is another matter in which knowing something does not change the circumstance. Spock knows the cause of motion sickness; he knows that when his cilia do not detect movement within the semicircular canals of his inner ears, his brain does not recognize movement despite the fact that he can see it very clearly with his eyes, and he knows that this subconscious confliction is the cause for his ailment. He also knows that pain, specifically the mild headache he is experiencing, is a matter of the mind and that the mind can be controlled.

So, that is what Spock is attempting to do.

He is not being very successful.

He grips the faux-leather armrest tightly (and, so he hopes, discreetly) and concentrates with everything he can muster, yet the dull throb persists. Controlling physical sensations and certain autonomic functions are one of the first things young Vulcans learn, but they are also the things Spock has the most difficulty doing. Other Vulcans - the Elders, his schoolmates, even his grandmother once - say that it is his half-human ancestry, his mother’s human blood, that causes this.

It is something Spock does not contemplate often. It is illogical to blame one’s ancestry for one’s personal shortcomings. The human phrase “the apple does not fall far from the tree” holds little truth and is irrelevant to the situation. All intelligent beings have control over their destiny, and it is up to them, not their genetic material, as to whether or not they succeed.

With this in mind, Spock continues to attempt to control his headache. It lessens somewhat as time passes, but it does not disappear entirely. His single-minded concentration distracts him from the changing scenery: the tall, green trees replacing skyscrapers, the rows upon rows of Terran agriculture that even Vulcan eyes cannot see the end of. By the time Spock looks away from the asphalt straight ahead, Lady Amanda has directed them into a small, rural town surrounded for miles with nothing but wheat and corn.

They travel through the town in silence. Not a word has been spoken between them since they left the shuttle bay two point four hours ago. There has been no need for conversation as there is nothing of importance to talk about, but Spock briefly contemplates engaging in what is known as “small talk.” It is something Vulcans generally do not take part in, and, by extension, neither does Lady Amanda. It is a very human thing, and Spock would not, under normal circumstances, entertain the thought of it. However, as his mother has been displaying such human tendencies as smiling and even once laughing (it was a small laugh, but it surprised Spock as he had not heard her make such a sound in many years) since their arrival, she may wish to partake in something that appears to be so vital to human society.

Spock is just about to pose a query about his mother’s opinion on the weather when his mother pulls to a stop in front of a store/restaurant conglomerate with a rather garish red and yellow sign naming the building as “Hope’s.” In smaller but no less ostentatious text below the name, it declares, “The best burgers in Iowa!”

Spock looks to his mother, eyebrow raised to convey his hesitancy to trust an establishment that would so presumptuously claim to be the best of anything without proper citation, but she does not appear to mind.

The first dialogue in two point four hours is this:

“The cabin doesn’t have a replicator like home.”

“I will accompany you.”

So the two of them step out into the cool summer air together. It is mid-June, a part of the Terran summertime in this part of the planet and likely close to the warmest it will be within the next two months, but Spock finds the temperature still much cooler than he prefers. He wore a thick sweater in preparation for the weather, but he still is not able to achieve his optimal body temperature.

He follows his mother into the building, hoping the inside will be warmer.

He is met with disappointment and a significantly cooler environment. He wants to rub his arms to combat the chill, but he keeps his hands at his side and tries to look like he is not shivering inside.

The building appears to be very old, mid-twenty-first century design at the earliest, made apparent by the one-way-tinted glass windows covered in advertisements, old-style linoleum floors, and water-stained mineral fiber ceiling tiles. Spock gives a wary glance at the tiles, calculating the odds of one of them falling on him or his mother. It seems safe enough, but he avoids walking under the more precarious ones for the sake of caution.

Dozens of shelves lined with both perishable and nonperishable products take up the majority of the floor, giving the place a maze-like atmosphere. There is a strange, unidentifiable smell about the place that Spock has never encountered before. A man sits reading behind a counter, surrounded by outdated lottery ticket machines.

“Afternoon!” the man greets, setting his PADD down. “Welcome to Hope’s.”

Lady Amanda smiles for the ninth time that day. “Good afternoon.”

“What brings you two here?” the man asks, his grin hiding behind a voluminous mustache. “You’re not from town, or I’d recognize you.”

“My son and I are visiting from Vulcan.” Her hand touches Spock’s shoulder very briefly. “Our cabin is close to town, so we thought we would stop here and get some things before settling in.”

“Well, my name’s Jim, and just let me know if there’s anything I can help you with, ma’am,” the man, Jim, says, leaning back, the smile still gleaming on his face. He winks at Spock. What Spock is supposed to do in response to that, he does not know.

Spock carries the basket, awkwardly following his mother through the store while trying to figure out which way he can hold it so it will stop bumping into his legs.

They pass a wall of refrigerators at the back of the store that radiates a damp cold which permeates Spock’s sweater and chills his skin. He does not react to it, but he is grateful his mother spends only three point seven seconds in this area.

Lady Amanda is an efficient woman. She does not take long to gather what they came for. The man, Jim, smiles affably again when they approach the counter where he is stationed. Human shopping procedure is not one of the topics Spock researched before they came. In a moment of hesitancy, he looks to his mother for assistance, and she takes the basket from him, setting it in front of Jim, who begins to scan their items.

“Did you find everything you were looking for, little man?” Jim asks Spock, winking in a fashion that implies conspiracy, but what he is conspiring, Spock cannot know.

“Terran food is not one of the areas in which I have a developed knowledge, so I did not look for anything,” Spock replies. “I carried the basket.”

Jim pauses, appearing to require time to process what he had just heard, but he recovers quickly. “Did you now?”

“Affirmative.”

Jim chuckles. “Right.” He winks at Spock again. “You sound like a smart kid.”

Spock blinks and tilts his head, a physical indicator of thought. (It is not in conveyance of emotion, so he allows it, but perhaps it is not something he should continue.) “I believe that was a compliment?” His glances to his mother for confirmation, and she nods. Her eyes show amusement. She would not show amusement at Spock’s mistakes, so he must be, as the humans say, catching on. “The correct response should be, ‘thank you,’ in that case.”

Spock had not said anything intentionally humorous, nor anything that he thinks could be deemed as such, but Jim laughs anyway. Spock, now more unsure than ever how to navigate the situation, clasps his hands behind his back, clenching them into fists outside of either of the adults’ view. But Lady Amanda, as perceptive as ever, seems to notice his discomfort and puts her hand on Spock’s head for a brief second. Her mind touches his, a brief second of contact. It is not unpleasant.

“So, where was it you said you were staying, ma’am?” Jim continues, bagging their items slowly. Spock does not comment on his lack of efficiency. His mother seems to be enjoying the conversation even though the man is taking much longer than necessary. Spock is pleased to be able to take advantage of another chance to observe human behavior in a natural environment, as well, so there is no pressing need to hasten their encounter. In addition, he does not seem to be part of the conversation anymore, which lessens his apprehension significantly.

“There’s a little cabin a few miles north of this town,” Lady Amanda answers, folding her hands in front of her. “It’s been in my family for quite a long time, but I haven’t visited it in many years.”

“That little old place?” Jim exclaims. “Why, there’s nothing around it for miles! What’re you planning on doing all day?”

“Oh, I’m not sure yet,” Lady Amanda says thoughtfully. “Normally, Spock, here, would spend the whole time on school work, but he’s so far ahead of his classmates that I had to take him out here for a break so he wouldn’t enter the Vulcan Science Academy _too_ early.”

This is an exaggeration. Spock is only roughly two years ahead of most of his peers, and the Vulcan Science Academy would not accept him unless he was sixteen years of age anyway. His academic excellence is not the only reason they came, either, but he is not going to inform Jim of any of this. He is not sure why, but perhaps it is the proud look his mother is giving him.

He is not embarrassed by this look. At all.

“So, I was right!” Jim exclaims. “You _are_ a smart kid.” He winks again, and Spock begins to wonder if there is something wrong with his eye.

Lady Amanda smiles, appearing gratified that someone should think that of her son. It is the tenth time today that Spock has seen her do this within the day alone. He has been keeping count.

Thirty-six point eight seconds pass before Lady Amanda speaks again, her tone changed significantly. She sounds nostalgic, almost contemplative when she says, “Tell me, Jim, is that little grove of trees still in the field behind the cabin?”

Jim gathers his eyebrows together, thinking. He hums thoughtfully. Then, “Oh! Yes, they’re still there, ma’am. They’ve become somewhat of a permanent fixture ‘round here.” He finishes bagging their items. It took him seven minutes and four seconds exactly to do this. Spock, once again, does not comment on his lack of efficiency. It would likely be considered rude, he thinks, and that is not the impression Spock wishes to leave as the only Vulcan this man will likely ever meet in this part of the world.

“I can’t believe they’re still there,” she says, some secret emotion clouding over her eyes. “I thought they would have been removed by now.”

“There’ve been a couple plans to uproot them in the past decade or so,” Jim explains, tying the handles of the biodegradable bags into bows. Spock watches him do this curiously. “None of ‘em ever went through. Something always goes wrong, or somebody backs out.”

“Indeed.” Lady Amanda pauses, seeming as though she might laugh. “I’m glad.”

Jim nods. “Those trees have been said to be haunted, you know, ma’am,” he says, taking a tone that Spock hesitantly categorizes as jocular.

Lady Amanda shakes her head, her loose hair swishing slightly. “No,” she replies seriously, “those trees are too peaceful for ghosts.”

“Maybe you’ll find out while you’re there.”

“Perhaps.” Lady Amanda smiles.

 _Eleven_ , Spock thinks, tallying the smile in his head. For one illogical moment, he wonders if she can read his thoughts because she looks down at him just then, the corners of her mouth quirked, her soft expression growing.

“I do believe you have endured quite enough of this illogical human conversation, haven’t you, Spock?” she asks, though she does not leave time for Spock to answer. Turning back to Jim, she says, “We will likely be back in a couple of weeks. Thank you very much.”

“I look forward to it, ma’am.”

Before Spock and Lady Amanda can reach for their newly acquired items, Jim grabs them, saying, “No, I’ll get it for you.”

Lady Amanda allows this, despite being fully capable of it herself.

This must be the concept of human chivalry in play, Spock observes. Chivalry seems a strange concept to the Vulcan mind. That one half of the population must show such one-sided courtesy to the other in such seemingly arbitrarily chosen ways such as opening doors and pulling out chairs is illogical.

But, Spock concedes, there are many aspects of Vulcan culture that many Terrans would - and do - think strange. It is not the place of someone of another world to question aspects of a culture they are not entirely familiar with.

So, in the interest of respecting his mother’s (and, at least partially, his) native culture, Spock opens the hovercar door for her as they ready to make their leave. If Lady Amanda thinks his actions odd, she does not show it. Spock accepts that as meaning that his actions have been correct and is pleased that his research has not been faulty.

And, so, Spock and Lady Amanda leave Jim and the store/restaurant called Hope’s behind. Spock does not let the following stretch of time pass in silence as he had before.

“Mother, what is the significance of the trees you spoke of?”

Lady Amanda does not reply immediately. This prompts Spock to turn to face her, but her expression is inscrutable. Inexplicably, he feels that he may have asked an immensely personal question, and he almost regrets doing it. Almost. Regret is illogical.

So he sits silently, stiffly, waiting for a reply.

“Well, Spock,” she begins, trailing off. Taking a deep breath, she starts again. “Well, it’s sentimentality, mostly. I know sentiment is distasteful to you-” it is not, strangely, but he does not say that “-but that grove was where I spent so much of my childhood. It was there before I was born.” She pauses, something near a laugh escaping her. “I used to think I saw fairies in the trees, and I would race over to try and catch them, but they were always gone when I got there.”

Spock had never taken his mother to be one for superstition, but human children are well known for their imaginative thoughts, and to think his mother would be an exception simply because she married a Vulcan later in life is not logical.

The cabin comes into view for Spock before it does his mother. It seems to pop up out of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by dense wheat fields so long and wide that even Spock cannot see the end of them. He knows that they must cease at some point, but some part of him remains in awe of the deceptively endless field made golden by the setting Terran sun, rippling like water in the wind.

Spock stares in wide-eyed captivation for nearly a full minute before Lady Amanda, catching sight of the cabin as well, says, quietly, “There it is.”

Her eyes are not trained on the cabin itself, but the field beyond it. A cluster of trees stands tall above its surroundings, vibrantly green and spotted with shadowy white. Spock does not know how to categorize her expression.

“They’re called catalpa trees, you know,” she says breathlessly, so soft that Spock almost wonders if she had not meant to be heard.

But he heard it.

The sun sinks low on the horizon, turning the sky impossible shades of yellow, pink, orange, and such a wide range of blue, from the darkest hue to the lightest, that Spock, once again, finds himself captivated by the natural wonders of Earth that differ so greatly from his home.

Neither Spock nor his mother moves once the hovercar comes to a stop. Spock manages to recompose himself, but Lady Amanda remains still. So, he stays as well, watching her out of the corner of his eye. He longs to know what she is thinking, and his hands squeeze into fists in his lap, tempted to reach for her meld points. That is the only way he could ever truly know what is going through her head.

Nearly a minute passes before Lady Amanda seems to realize that her son is still sitting next to her. She does not say anything, nor does she smile again, but her eyes are so full of emotion, expressing more than either of those things would, that Spock could not begin to analyze them.

He tries anyway.

But the human mind is not something that always wishes to be analyzed, he has learned.

* * * * *

For three days, Spock and his mother settle into their little cabin, adjusting to the dusty smell of the sheets, the lack of a replicator, and the cool weather. Spock begins wearing multiple shirts at a time to combat the chill, but he is still cold a majority of the time.

Lady Amanda slips into a comfortable peace that one can only find upon returning home. Her actions and habits remain much the same, but Spock sees another side of his mother nonetheless.

She still smiles.

In the cabin, there is a small library comprised of about two hundred old-fashioned paper books, ranging from thick, fourteen-hundred page-long novels to sturdy but worn board books for small children. Spock takes to them instantly and almost always has one in hand.

Spock is very pleased with his surroundings, to say the least.

Then, in the middle of a quiet morning, Lady Amanda suggests that he go outside and “explore.”

Spock reminds her that there are no unexplored areas anywhere in this solar system.

Lady Amanda looks at him from across the room.

Spock is not an expert at reading human facial expressions, but he sets his book down anyway.

“I will put on a sweater,” he says.

Lady Amanda nods, her lips quirking as she turns back to her own book.

Spock goes to his room and dons a thick sweater over his cowl-necked thermal shirt. It is one of the warmer days, 97 degrees Fahrenheit, but he will not attempt an excursion without layers.

The screen door leading to the backyard creaks when he opens it. He is hit by cool air and the smell of damp foliage. It had rained the night before, but it was gentle and steady, unlike the torrential rains of post-summer Vulcan.

He steps down from the slightly raised base of the house into the slippery yellow-green grass, his boots squeaking upon contact. The sound it oddly satisfying. He twists his foot to make it again.

 _This is unnecessary_ , he thinks just as he looks back through the small window to see if his mother can see him from where she is sitting. He sees only the back of her head.

Thus, the first five minutes of Spock’s outdoor “exploration” are spent twisting about in one spot, making squeaky sounds with his boots and the grass, simultaneously reprimanding himself for it and reveling in it.

When he finishes, he experiences a feeling he can only categorize as _excitement_ , an emotion he has not felt in a long time. It leaves him disoriented and lightheaded, and he almost loses his balance. That such an insignificant action can invoke such strong emotions in him that he has not felt since he was much younger is a strange concept to his logical mind.

Now breathing heavily, Spock scans his surroundings for anything of interest. At first, he finds little of import. The area, while not lacking in aesthetic appeal, actually contains very little besides an overabundance of wheat. Only a rectangle of empty space and a rusty chain link fence lies between the cabin and the field.

A second inspection, however, brings his attention to the group of trees that his mother seems to care very much about.

Spock is only just tall enough to see them over the wall of wheat, but he can see thick clusters of flowers and enormous heart-shaped leaves. Catalpa trees, Lady Amanda had called them.

As a general rule, Vulcans very rarely do anything without thinking. It is illogical to act without first considering the consequences of one’s actions and other alternatives to said actions, so Vulcans just do not tend to do it.

That being said, not a single thought crosses Spock’s mind as he climbs over the fence. His foot catches in one of the links, pitching him over into the mud. He tries to catch himself and scrapes his hands on the ground. Ignoring the sting, he rights himself and keeps going. He becomes engulfed, seeing nothing but wheat all around him, relying on his sense of direction not to lead him astray.

He pushes his way through the dense field for nearly five minutes, slipping on saturated leaves and tripping over dead stalks, breathing heavily despite the rate of exertion being low, until he breaks through the foliage.

He stops dead in his tracks, confronted with an arresting sight.

Thirteen trees elegantly stretch to touch the sky, their trunks forming a great unbroken circle, nearly thirty feet in diameter. Overflowing bunches of intensely fragrant flowers weigh down flexible limbs and lazily drip blossoms to the ground, forming a carpet of white, thick as the snow that Spock has only seen in images of Terran wintertime. Not a single drifting flower lands outside the unbroken circle made by the trees, almost as if the grove is self-contained, existing only within itself.

It is quite possibly the most beautiful place Spock has ever seen.

Spock ducks into the grove under the low-hanging branches, the giant leaves brushing the top of his head, and he is met with another strange yet wonderful sight and a rising feeling similar to the one of excitement he experienced just before.

The trees have been grafted into a most peculiar form, one that Spock has never known trees, even ones of the Terran variety, to take. The branches form a huge, hollow dome twenty feet above Spock’s head. The canopy casts the whole area in greenish shadow, letting in only cracks of golden light to dapple the flowered ground, giving the entire area a surreal image.

Spock can breathe more easily here than he can anywhere he has been before, Vulcan included. It is not because the air is thinner within the confines of the trees because the air is not thinner. The air is exactly the same as it is outside, and there is no reason for him to breathe easier, but he does anyway. It feels as though a great weight that he had not known he had been carrying has been taken off of his chest and, for the first time in his life, he can truly breathe.

There is no word in Vulcan or Standard that could do this place justice. In fact, there is no word that he knows in any language that could begin to encompass the hazy calm, the otherworldliness, the unnameable something that the trees and their strange canopy hold.

Spock dazedly stumbles through the blanket of fallen flowers to the center of the grove, his footsteps leaving tracks behind him. For a moment, all he can do is stand there, his face upturned to stare at the peak of the dome as the wind rustles through the upper branches. A few more flowers loosen and drift down to join the rest. Spock reaches out and catches with both hands one that falls close to him.

He looks down at it, holding it like a treasure in his cupped hands. It is a flower unlike any that he has ever seen, a trend he is beginning to notice. Nothing on Earth is like anything he has seen; the two broad yellow stripes and irregular purple splatters are no exception. He runs his thumb over the soft ruffles, and the delicate material tears slightly.

Spock lets the torn blossom slip through his fingers, settling into the whiteness at his feet.

Compelled to follow it, he kneels down and sits, the damp soil squishing slightly beneath him. Closer to the ground, the smell of the near-decomposing buds is intoxicating.

Closing his eyes, Spock breathes deeply, the scent making his head fuzzy. There is a peace that he has only ever felt in meditation. The only difference between this and meditation is that thinking has become so much harder within the last thirty two seconds, a clear thought almost impossible to muster. The even, steady filling and emptying of his lungs lulls him into a daze, and, before he realizes it, Spock is fast asleep among the flowers.


	2. Invisible Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meetings and name-givings.

Spock is awake before he opens his eyes.

The ground is cool and damp under his cheek, and flowers brush his eyelashes. His internal clock has kept time accurately as always; it tells him that it has been two hours and seventeen minutes since he drifted off. He tries to open his eyes, but they feel heavy and unresponsive, as though they are still sleeping while his mind is awake.

So, he stays curled on the cool ground, eyes closed, his fingers twitching in his half-asleep-half-awake state. It is a strange sort of peace that he feels, unlike any he has ever achieved during meditation. He does not have to work for it to exist; it is simply there.

And then the fragile serenity shatters, the sound of disturbed leaves and a muted thud cutting through the silence. Spock does not startle, but his eyes fly open and his heart rate accelerates by forty-seven point three percent.

Directly in front of him is a pair of bare feet, calloused and smudged with dirt. Spock stares at them for a moment and then looks up at their owner.

It is a young boy looking down at him with a curious expression, unruly golden hair falling in front of his eyes. The boy reaches up to brush it away, revealing bright eyes underneath.

“Are you an elf?"

Spock scrambles ungracefully to sit up, floundering for a response. Where did the boy come from? Had he been watching him? What is an elf? And why does this boy think he is one?

“I do not know what an elf is,” Spock says carefully, hiding his fumbling behind a neutral expression. “I am a Vulcan. Who are you?”

The boy gave Spock a strange look, almost as though he does not understand the question, and does not answer, saying instead, “Well, you have elf ears. What’s a Vulcan?”

“A Vulcan is a being from the planet of the same name,” Spock explains, though confused as to why he should have to. “It is sixteen light years away from this planet. We have been in contact with humans for several hundred years, so I must ask-”

The boy cuts him off, a huge grin dominating his features. He drops to a squat, putting his face directly in front of Spock’s, much closer than he would prefer. “You’re not from here?”

Spock raises an eyebrow and leans back to a safer distance. “No, I am not,” he says.

“Which way is Vulcan?” the boy asks, moving to fully sit down, crossing his legs beneath him. Fallen flowers seem to gather around his knees magnetically, but Spock suspects a trick of the irregular light.

Spock looks up to the sky, obscured though it is by the heart-shaped catalpa leaves. It would not be possible to give an exact direction from his position, so he points in the direction that would likely be most easily understood: up.

The boy’s eyes light up. “You’re from the stars?” he questions excitedly. Spock understands that it is some sort of a colloquialism on Earth to refer to other life forms as being “from the stars,” so he does not correct the boy, simply nodding once.

“And where are you from?” Spock asks. “You appear to be human, but I am unsure.”

“I’m from here,” the boy replies vaguely, picking up the cup-like flowers from the ground and stacking them on his knee.

Spock waits for him to elaborate. When the boy says nothing further, Spock says, “Clarify.”

“What do you mean?” the boy asks, tilting his head and squinting. He leans closer, as though proximity would allow him to understand.

“Are you from Iowa?”

“I’m from here,” the boy repeats.

Spock decides to drop the subject. He may not be able to receive answers in one line of questioning, but he may make more progress in another.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I am me.”

“I mean,” Spock clarifies, hiding his frustration, “ what is your name?”

“My name?” the boy questions. Then, “You mean what I’m called?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t say what I’m called,” the boy says.

“What do you mean by that?” Spock asks, now more than a little curious. He fights the urge to move closer (a purely scientific instinct; proximity often allows for easier study, after all).

“You just can’t say it,” the boy says.

A strange silence follows. Spock is not sure how to continue the dialogue from here. The boy is intriguing, to say the least, but conversation for the sake of conversation is not logical. And yet, there is something keeping Spock rooted. Something he is hesitant to categorize for the time being. His mind is being pulled in by the boy’s like gravity. Or perhaps not gravity. It is more similar to the sensation of being pulled into an embrace, a feeling Spock does not experience regularly but can remember vividly, beginning slowly as a soft touch on the shoulder and then suddenly being gripped to another’s chest.

“Can I say what you're called?”

The boy’s words jolt Spock from contemplation.

“I am called S’chn T’gai Spock,” he answers, blinking quickly to rid himself of his strange thoughts, “but Spock is sufficient."

The boy smiles like the sun breaking over clouds. Spock can all but feel the beams hitting his skin. He feels slightly warmer, but he can most likely attribute that to the direct angle of the noontime sun.

“I have an idea,” the boy says, leaning closer as though divulging a secret. Their eyes are parallel, and they are near enough that Spock could count every fleck of his irises and feel every breath brush his nose.

“Explain,” Spock says. What color are his eyes? Spock cannot tell. They seem to change every second, every time the light touches them differently, flicking between brown and green and blue and hazel and gold in a matter of seconds.

“You give me a name.” The boy’s eyes are like kaleidoscopes, and in them, Spock can see every emotion as though the boy has never thought to hide them. A foreign concept. “Give me a name you can say too.”

Spock does not know many human names. He has met very few, but he does not think he should give the boy a Vulcan name. It would not be fitting for him. He cannot call him Amanda, as that is his mother’s name, and the only other human name he can think of is…

“Jim,” Spock says. “Is Jim agreeable?"

The boy beams at him, and Spock is suddenly breathless.

“Agreeable,” the boy confirms.

The boy, now Jim, leans back, taking in Spock with sparkling eyes.

“You wanna see something awesome?"

Spock hesitates. He wants to say yes. He almost does so unthinkingly, but he has managed to retain some semblance of rationality, it appears, because he stops to think first. His mother does not know where he is, and she may be worrying. That in itself is almost enough for Spock to leave immediately (he does not wish to cause his mother stress), but… the way Jim is looking at him, staring expectantly, excitement glowing in his eyes, changes his mind.

His mother can wait a little longer.

* * * * *

Eleven minutes and seventeen seconds of hiking through wheat and high grass later, Spock and Jim come to the end of the field. Ahead of them is a barren strip of land, covered in sparse grass and loose, muddy dirt smattered with puddles. It is a stark contrast to the lush vegetation Spock has seen thus far, and it reminds him, somewhat, of home. If only it were redder. And significantly drier.

Beyond the tract of bare land is what, Spock assumes, they have come to see.

A huge abandoned quarry stretches out in front of them. A hundred feet below, crystal water covers the stone floor, gently lapping at a rocky shore. Even from their position so high above, fallen trees, huge stones, and even the fluttering movements of fish are clearly visible. Nature has reclaimed the quarry by covering as much of it as possible with plants; clinging vines grow like veins on the steep walls, spindly trees force themselves skyward, taking root in ledges and crevices they made themselves, birdsong echoing off of the still waters and eroding walls. The sheer volume of life and growing things makes even the sharply carved ledge look natural.

Spock turns to Jim. His emotions require control, but he also has much scientific curiosity for the place. He wishes to see what is down there close up.

“Is there any way that we may travel to the water?”

Jim hesitates. Spock has not seen many others besides himself hesitate. It is strange on Jim.

“Uh…” Jim voices. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been down there.”

“May I ask why?” Spock inwardly cringes at his excessive inquisitiveness. It is not necessary to ask such questions; he must regain control of himself.

But Jim answers, saying simply, “I’ve never felt the need to go so far away.”

He is curious, but Spock does not ask him to clarify. There are too many questions about Jim to ask all of them, so this one will have to wait.

Spock suggests they walk the perimeter to see if there is a pathway within a reasonable distance. Jim laughs and says, “Already ten feet ahead of you.” And within seconds, he is literally ten feet ahead of Spock, bounding across the waterlogged stretch and splattering himself with mud.

It is not a quiet trek. While splashing through murky puddles, Jim asks questions about Spock - about his home, his people, the color of the sky that he likes the most, and even his favorite place from which to look at the clouds. Spock tries to keep up with the sudden line of questioning, but many of the topics are things he has never thought about. But he answers everything eventually and with utmost candor. Not that he, as a Vulcan, would lie, but he finds that he is able to tell Jim openly that he prefers the deep blue-black of the night sky over Vulcan instead of saying that it is illogical to have a preference at all.

Spock is telling Jim about the constellations visible from his home planet when they reach a gravel road that slopes down into the quarry. Jim whoops excitedly, grabbing Spock’s arm briefly and grinning before sprinting down the pathway.

Spock follows at a slower pace, calling warnings to Jim to watch for fallen branches or holes in the ground, but he does not stumble.

The road ends abruptly sixty feet later, tapering off into a patch of grass and rocks. Beyond that is a drop off followed by narrow terraced steps that lead directly to an overgrown shore. It appears quite dangerous, and Spock almost suggests they turn back, but Jim is already lowering himself down to the first step.

“Spock!” he shouts, his voice echoing off of the walls. “Come on!”

“I am coming,” Spock replies, cautiously approaching the ledge. He sits down and carefully lowers himself to sit with his legs dangling in the air. When he turns and slowly inches over the edge until he is hanging merely by his fingers, he freezes.

“My feet do not touch the ground,” he says. His tone is flat, but the feeling of simply hanging inspires mild panic. He is hardly a foot and a half from the ground, he knows, but he cannot touch it. He is uncertain whether he will be able to land on his feet.

“Just let go,” Jim encourages lightly. “You’ll be fine”

Spock grips the edge tighter for a moment. Telling himself it is illogical to remain where he is, that he is acting like a child, he takes a silent, deep breath and then he is falling for only a split second. It is a shorter distance that it felt like, but the moment his feet hit the slick ground, his ankle rolls, knocking him off balance in a show of absolute gracelessness. An unseemly yelp escapes him as he tumbles backward, nearly pitching over the edge of the narrow platform.

Spock has only just comprehended that he is falling when a hand snatches his out of the air and yanks him back.

Spock grabs Jim’s hand with his free one unthinkingly, steadying himself on the other boy, before he realizes that his shields are practically nonexistent. He has not been focusing on them at all, especially not in the past few minutes, and he can feel…

He can feel Jim.

Time becomes relative as it has never been before, as though it has slowed down, as though mere seconds are suddenly worth more than simply that. Spock feels flushed, as though his blood has been replaced with warm, exhilarating sunshine. Feeling Jim’s mind is like stepping into the light after standing in the shade, the heat of the sun slipping onto his skin welcomingly. Jim is so bright. So bright that Spock could never have really seen true light before now. He has spent his life in a cold, dark cave, staring at shadows projected on a wall, believing that is the entire world, only to find upon leaving that his world is not complete and never could be without this new mind, this bright morning sun. He does not want to be parted from it. He wishes to stand in this sunshine forever but-

He extracts his hands from Jim’s with more force than necessary. He does not wish to say anything, but Jim is staring at him with an open-mouthed expression that he is not sure how to read. What could he say? His show was immensely unbecoming of a Vulcan, and he is grateful to Jim for keeping him from tumbling over the edge, but he must regain control over himself. He is still a Vulcan, and he still has control over his emotions.

“I apologize,” Spock says quickly. “I apologize for-”

Jim cuts him off earnestly. “What was that?”

“When I dropped down, my foot landed at an unstable angle on a particularly hazardous area, and my weight paired with gravity caused me to lose balance,” Spock explains, embarrassment rising in his cheeks before he can stop it.

“No,” Jim says, stepping backward and grabbing Spock’s sleeve to pull him away from the edge to a safer distance, “I mean when I touched you. What was that?”

Spock flinches internally at the inflection of his voice. Was that anger? Disgust? Had he ruined the possibility of becoming close to Jim by making such a mistake? He had touched Jim and seen his mind, and now Jim was angry with him-

Wait.

How could Jim know?

“Did you feel my mind?” Spock questions, thoughts flashing through his head like lightning.

“Is that what it was?”

“I believe so.” Spock looks at Jim and at the hands that rescued him not even two minutes ago. “My species are touch-telepathic. When you caught my hand, my shields were greatly weakened, and I felt your mind.” He pauses, taking in Jim’s expression. He has not gotten more skilled at reading it in the past few seconds, so he looks back down quickly. “Your species is psi-null, and you should not have been able to feel my mind touching yours. I am uncertain as to why you were able to.”

Jim does not respond immediately. Prompted by his silence, Spock looks up at Jim’s face again.

Jim begins slowly, seeming unsure of how to proceed. “What did you see?” he asks. "When you read my mind?”

How could Spock put into words what he had felt? Nothing that he thinks of could come close to adequately encompassing Jim’s mind. So, instead, Spock says what he can say in confidence.

“I did not see your mind so much as feel it,” he explains somewhat awkwardly. The words feel strange in his mouth, unused to having to explain his telepathic abilities to others. “It was not a full meld, so I received impressions of your mind rather than saw it.”

“Oh,” Jim responds, obviously lost in thought.

Lost in thought. A curious Terran expression, but one that seems appropriate to explain the look in Jim’s eyes.

Spock is silent. He wishes to apologize. It was a breach of personal privacy, Spock knows, and Jim seems to have taken offense. He has become comparatively unresponsive, and Spock finds that concerning. He wishes desperately to know the Platonian sun before him, and to chase him away now would take that sun away forever.

He must remedy the situation immediately.

“Jim,” he says, hiding any betraying urgency, “I apologize for my invasion of your privacy; it was not my intention, and I understand if you-”

“You still wanna go down to the water?”

Spock blinks. _What?_

“The water?” Hope rises in Spock's throat, but he shoves it down before it can become truly tangible.

“Yeah. Do you still wanna go down to the water?” Jim repeats, tilting his head towards Spock, the beginning of a smile touching his lips.

“I…“ Spock takes a breath. His lungs seem too small to hold enough air. “I wish to continue.”

“C’mon, then!” Jim grins and tugs on Spock’s sleeve gently, imploringly.

The two of them continue clambering down the terrace. Neither of them falls again, but Jim scrapes his knee halfway down. He brushes it off immediately, though blood drips down his calf somewhat alarmingly. He tells Spock to stop worrying about it after the third time he asks after its condition. Spock informs him that Vulcans do not worry, and Jim laughs at him.

Spock slips off of the last step, finally landing on the pebbly shore as a feeling of exhilaration makes itself known in the form of a rapidly beating heart. He feels so light, as though with every foot of descent, gravity became weaker and a single bound would allow him to float away.

Jim drops down beside him, landing crouched like a cat.

Straightening, he says, “It looks way bigger down here than it does up there.”

Looking out over the crystal lake, Spock agrees. It seems to stretch on forever, just like so many things Spock has seen since coming to Earth. Despite the fact that the wall at which the lake ends is visible from where they are standing, the edge of the water itself is not visible, and Spock feels the irrational desire to swim to the other end just to see how far it goes.

“Hey, Spock!” Jim calls from the shore, water lapping at his bare feet. “We should go swimming. The water feels great!”

Now that the prospect of actually getting in the water has presented itself, Spock is no longer so keen.

“I do not think so,” he says, nudging his foot into the ground.

“Well, I’m going to,” Jim calls back, taking off his dirty t-shirt and jeans. He strips so quickly that Spock does not have time to avert his gaze. He leaves on his underwear, much to Spock’s relief, but he is showing much more skin than he is used to or would generally deem appropriate.

Jim wastes no time on waiting for Spock. He dashes into the water, creating a sound that bounces off of the walls and waves that tumble about him, sending ripples through the entire body of water.

Spock cautiously approaches the shore, careful not to allow the water to touch his shoes. Ahead of him, Jim is up to his chest in the lake, grinning endlessly and waving at Spock.

Spock crouches down to untie his shoes. He removes them, and then his socks. The air is cold against his feet, but not completely unbearable.

Resignedly, Spock follows Jim’s example and removes all his clothes except his underwear. He suppresses a shiver as he folds his clothes neatly and puts them in a pile on top of his shoes to avoid getting dirt on them.

With wet pebbles sticking to the bottoms of his feet, Spock goes back to the water. He touches the water with his toe. It is freezing.

“Jim, this water is very cold,” Spock says informatively. He removes his toe from the water and looks down at the offensive liquid distastefully.

“We don’t have to swim, I guess,” Jim says, wading closer to the shore. “If it’s too cold for you, we can do something else.”

Spock pauses. The water is not “too cold” for him, of course. He simply prefers warmer things, such as wearing clothes and not swimming in lakes. He can stand the temperature of the water just as well as Jim.

“No,” Spock says, “I will swim.”

Jim is close enough now for Spock to see the amused expression on his face. Spock realizes then that he has fallen easily for a trick to get him into the water, and embarrassment that he did not realize it before rises in him. But he also finds that he does not mind it as much as he should, which is a strange thing that he is not sure how to address.

With those thoughts tumbling about in his head, Spock stiffly steps into the freezing water, the hair on his arms and legs standing out unpleasantly. The moment his knees become engulfed is the moment he remembers that he does not actually know how to swim.

“Jim,” he says urgently, “I do not know how to swim.”

Jim just laughs and splashes over to him. “Don’t worry; I won’t let anything happen to you.”

As casual as that statement was, it holds a strange amount of weight for Spock. It feels more intimate than it should. Spock trails his fingers over the surface of the water to distract himself. He concentrates on the ripples he creates, a strange feeling blossoming in his chest.

“Hey, Spock,” Jim says quietly.

Spock looks back to him immediately, reflexively, and is met with a giant wave of water directly in his face.

Spock sputters and stumbles backward, staring at Jim in astonishment as droplets fall from his bangs to his eyelashes. Then, brushing away the water in his eyes and setting his mouth in a grim line, Spock forms the biggest wave he can, sending it straight to Jim.

It is Jim’s turn to sputter, his laughter punctuated by spitting out water. He recovers faster than Spock, however, and sends another huge splash right back.

Spock finds himself involved in an all-out battle. Jim gives it his all, his laughter ringing above their splashing. Spock does not laugh aloud, but he feels the sentiment of it in his chest, blooming like a wildflower.

To avoid one of Spock’s attacks, Jim dives under the water, gasping in just before disappearing. Without hesitation, Spock follows him, submerging himself totally, all thoughts about not knowing how to swim gone from his head.

At first, the cold is overwhelming, but he quickly becomes accustomed to it. Eyes open, Spock finds Jim suspended just above the lake floor, digging through the sand. He moves towards Jim slowly, navigating awkwardly underwater.

When he gets close, Jim looks up at him and smiles, his golden hair glinting in the blue-tinted light. He picks something up out of the sand, and Spock points at it to show that he wishes to see what it is. Jim just smiles wider and points upward.

Both of them break the surface simultaneously, sending ripples through the lake. They move closer to the shore until they can sit down in the water. Spock almost shivers when the breeze touches him.

“Look,” Jim says, holding his hand out. Sitting on his palm is an oval-shaped shell, nacreous and glistening. It is some species of freshwater bivalve mollusk but which specifically he does not know.

“These are the animals that make pearls,” Jim says, moving closer to Spock to give him a better view. “This one’s been dead for a while, but it made a pearl once.” He runs his thumb over the lip of the shell, eyes wide with fascination.

“Freshwater pearls are quite rare,” Spock says, leaning closer, eyes on the marbled mother-of-pearl. He wonders how Jim knows that this mollusk made a pearl without seeing the pearl itself. He does not ask, though, because he has a thought in the back of his head that he would not likely understand it even if Jim could explain it to him.

Jim presses the shell into Spock’s hand, careful not to come in contact with his skin.

Spock stares at it. “Are there more of these in this lake?” he asks, turning it over and over in his hands, inspecting it more thoroughly.

“Yeah,” Jim replies, “there’s tons of ‘em in here.” He pushes sand near his foot aside and pulls up another shell, this one a broken fragment, the edge softened by the water.

Spock looks down through the water, picking with his eyes through pebbles and big rocks, and lands on something white shining quietly in the sunlight streaming through the water.

He reaches over and scoops it up, feeling sand run through his fingers.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs, holding his shell close to his eyes.

Jim reaches down again, this time claiming a rounded rock from the sand. He shows it to Spock, a huge smile on his face.

Jim and Spock spend the rest of the afternoon digging for rocks and shells, carrying their bounty to the shore when their hands get too full to hold any more. Jim occasionally shows Spock certain rocks or shells and tells him about them in a lilting voice, explaining them as though he is telling a story about a friend he loves dearly. The things he says he could not possibly know, but he says them with such conviction and sincerity that Spock would not begin to doubt his veracity.

Before Spock realizes it, the sun sinks low on the horizon, coloring the edges of the sky in warm tones, and he and Jim have spent four hours and forty-nine minutes collecting shells and rocks. Spock does not know why he spent so long on such an unnecessary and thus illogical act, but he did. But he did, and he feels more human now than he ever has before, standing here, knee deep in crystal water with Jim, and for once it does not feel like a negative thing. For the first time in his entire life, he does not feel burdened by his human side, but, rather, elevated, freed, because of it. He knows that when he leaves, he will not feel like this anymore, but he decides to revel in it for as long as he possibly can.

When Jim comments on the location of the sun, saying that it is getting late, Spock knows he cannot stay for much longer. His mother must be worried now after him being gone so long, and though he has become numb to the chill of the July air and the water, he knows that his lips must be turning an ugly grey due to the cold.

As they trudge through the water back to the shore with fistfuls of treasure, Spock says, “I believe we should return to the grove. Night will fall soon, and it would not be preferable to still be here in the dark.”

“Okay!” Jim breaks the shoreline, dumping his load onto their large accumulation. Spock does the same, and they run to their clothes, the air cold on their legs that had been submerged for the greater part of nearly five hours.

Once they are both dressed again, Spock significantly warmer and more comfortable now, Jim breaks out into a huge grin and shouts, “Race you to the steps!” Then he dashes off without another word, kicking up sand in his wake.

Spock charges after him, but his limbs are stiff from the cold, only barely catching up to him at the last moment, both of them slamming into the stone wall with their palms. Chests heaving, the boys look at each other and say, simultaneously, “I won.”

“A tie, then,” Jim concedes immediately, still smiling, but his expression is tighter around the eyes. His expressiveness is of no assistance to Spock because the emotion swirling about in Jim’s flickering eyes is foreign, unrecognizable to him by sight.

He finds himself wishing he could meld with Jim. Wishing he could know Jim’s thoughts as deeply as he does his own. Wishing he could be one with that bright, entrancing mind that calls to him even now. He could reach out now and just…

Jim hoists himself up before Spock can do anything.

Spock allows Jim to keep the lead, staring hard at the back of his head. He tries not to think about anything at all, focusing only on climbing. Climbing.

Climbing, climbing, climbing.

It is merely one foot in front of the other and the back of Jim’s golden head for seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds, and then Jim has already clambered up the last ledge, waiting by the edge on his knees, peering down at Spock.

“Need help getting up?” he asks.

“That is not necessary,” Spock says, wedging his toes into the foothold in the weathered rock. He struggles to bring himself up high enough to swing his leg over the top until Jim takes hold of his wrists. Thankfully (disappointingly?), the area he holds is covered by a thick sweater, and he does not come into direct contact. Spock scrambles up with Jim’s assistance, grateful that he at least has his mental barriers up strong enough to resist the temptation to view Jim’s mind again.

“Thank you.” Spock dusts himself off and tugs at his sleeves to keep from looking Jim in the eye. His temptation is shameful, and Jim does not even know.

“No problem.” And Jim is still smiling again. He seems to always be smiling.

The walk back to the grove takes less time than walking to the quarry did despite Jim frequently pointing out clouds and colors in the sky and small animals scampering through the field with them. By the time they reach their destination, the sun has nearly set completely, the greater portion of the sky already turning the deep blue of night.

They duck under the trees, and Spock takes a deep breath, tranquility rooting itself in his chest just as it had earlier that day.

It is dark within the circle, much darker than outside of it. The darkness reminds Spock that he must leave and soon. It is illogical to wish for a time to continue indefinitely, yet, now, he does. If he could, he would stay with Jim, here in the middle of an otherworldly grove of trees, in a deep quarry lake, anywhere Jim wanted to be.

But he cannot. He has no other reason to linger. He should leave.

“I must leave,” he says quickly, ripping the metaphorical bandage off.

“Leave?” Jim looks at him, eyes wide, anxious. “Where? To Vulcan?”

“I am staying in the cabin,” Spock says, pointing in its direction. “It is five minutes away. I will not go far.”

There is a strange expression on Jim’s face now. Wide eyes, but not curious or laughing eyes, and his bottom lip, worried between his teeth. It is anxiousness, worry, Spock believes. Spock's stomach flips at the thought that he is likely the cause of it.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Jim asks, something like panic in his eyes.

In a moment of intense clarity that, ironically, makes his head spin, Spock knows the only answer that he can give.

“Yes,” he says.

“Promise?”

“Vulcans do not lie.”

And Spock has never seen a brighter smile than the one he is given in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is from the song of the same by Matt Gould and Griffin Matthews.


	3. Traitorous Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sleep is not had and hands are held.

Spock sits on the floor beside the back door and removes his mud-caked boots. Quiet music drifts from another room, accompanied by Lady Amanda’s hushed, lyrical voice. Her singing voice is not unfamiliar, but even that which he is familiar with feels strange, disjointed, after the occurrences of the day now behind him. 

Not wishing to disturb his mother, Spock creeps across the living room, his socked footsteps muted against the hardwood floor. He picks up the book he had been reading that morning from his chair as he passes it, its weight surprisingly stabilizing, and then wanders into his room with it gripped tightly between his hands.

His entire body sighs as Spock sinks down onto his bed. He had not realized how much his feet hurt until now when he is no longer standing. He sets the book on his nightstand and picks up his PADD sitting there. It flickers to life, showing the background picture of the shadowed peak of Mount Tar’Hana, offset by the orange sky, darkening as the sun sets. The image inspires an unexpected reaction - he wishes that Jim were present so that he could show it to him. He cannot explain it entirely, but perhaps if he told Jim about his home, Jim would do the same for him. It is an odd desire, and he is unsure of its source, but he desires it nonetheless.

He accesses his files, searching for every bit of information on Vulcan that he is in possession of and putting it into a file titled “For Jim.” Once he has found what he already has, he begins a search for other sources as well as downloading captured images of the various geological features and maps. 

He is scouring a Vulcan astronomical database for a detailed image of the constellations when a blip on the corner of the screen diverts his attention.

` _Contact Request: Ambassador Sarek_ `

` _Accept Decline_ `

Spock knows he cannot decline it. He has no reason to (except the almost-vomiting-but-not sensation in his stomach and his accelerated heart rate, but neither of those things is a valid excuse), and his father might call his mother and ask her why he did not answer. It is only logical to speak with Ambassador Sarek now, but he… he feels as though he has been caught doing something that he should not be. But it is the feeling aspect of it that makes Spock tap “Accept.” He has indeed been doing something he should not be: indulging in irrationality and emotionalism. Too many of his decisions have been made based on his _feelings_.

He props the PADD against the lamp on his nightstand as the image of his father appears, frozen, still loading. He is sitting at a desk in a hotel room, looking austere and stoic, as any Vulcan should, and Spock is suddenly conscious of the fact that his hair is out of place from getting wet and drying at odd angles. He hastily tries to pat it down before his father connects.

His father raises a his hand in a _ta’al_.

Spock raises his hand as well, desperately attempting to steady his hand. “Good evening, Father.”

“Good evening, Spock,” Ambassador Sarek responds in kind, lowering his hand. “I see you have been spending time out of doors.”

Spock glances down at his clothes, which are stiff with mud and stained with grass. “Yes, I have been.”

“At your mother’s suggestion, I presume?”

“Affirmative.”

Spock’s shoulders are tense under Sarek’s calculating gaze, and Spock has to remind himself that Sarek cannot know his thoughts. Not at this distance. Not without contact.

“Have you adjusted well to Earth?” Sarek asks.

“Yes,” Spock replies calmly. “Have you?”

“I am somewhat accustomed to Terran peculiarities, so it is not so difficult for me.”

“Indeed.” Spock pauses. He wants to comment on the coldness of the air because he knows his father would understand, but he is unsure how his words would be met. Would it merely be a reminder that Spock is lacking in his abilities so as to not be able to control his body temperature? It is likely. The thought of reminding Sarek of this causes his stomach to turn unpleasantly, so he keeps it to himself.

“Have you encountered many humans?” his father questions.

Spock’s mind immediately goes to Jim, and his heart skips a beat. “I have met two thus far.”

“What do you think of them?”

Spock’s tongue flounders while his mind races. _What is the purpose of these questions_ , he thinks frantically. How is he supposed to answer this? Oh, what does he even think of Jim? He cannot explain it.

“They are not like Vulcans,” is all he can say.

Sarek seems satisfied with this response, much to Spock’s relief.

“No, they are not,” Sarek agrees sagely. “Their minds lack organization, allowing themselves to exist in chaos. Their emotions rule them in a way that ours do not.”

Spock remembers Jim’s brightness and wonders if Sarek would still speak derisively of human minds if he knew of him.

He does not intend to say anything, but before Spock can filter his words, he quips, “I find them intriguing. They display their emotions so easily, and I cannot help but wonder what that is like.”

“Interesting.”

Spock regrets opening his mouth at all. He should not have said anything. Why does he have such little control over himself today? Sarek’s face remains unreadable, but Spock knows his father well. He believes that Spock has shown weakness in logic by allowing himself to even contemplate this. He cannot allow it to continue.

“Father, I must terminate our communication,” Spock says, hiding his haste with a steady voice. “I require meditation.”

“I concur.” Sarek raises an eyebrow. “Farewell, my son. Do not allow human emotionalism to sway your mental discipline.”

“I shall not.” Spock raises his hand in a _ta’al_ before quickly ending the call.

He does not spare a moment, immediately removing his meditation mat from the drawer in which it is kept and spreading it out on the floor. He folds his knees beneath himself and takes deep breaths to calm his thundering heart.

He cannot allow himself to continue behaving this way. It is disgraceful of a Vulcan.

* * * * *

When Spock comes out of it, he is no more centered than he was three point six hours ago. In fact, he feels worse. A persistent throbbing formed behind his left eye thirty-seven point four minutes ago, and the fact that he can do nothing about it makes frustrated tears burn in his eyes.

Spock stands up. His breaths come out raggedly for a moment as he blinks away the traitorous emotions building in his eyes. He picks up his mat from the floor, folds it, and then puts it away. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:06. The sun will rise in approximately three point seven hours. It is not too late to go to bed, but he finds that, despite the fact that he is thoroughly exhausted, he has no desire to sleep.

Nevertheless, he removes his soiled clothes, leaving them in a pile beside his bed to pick up later, and climbs under the covers in his underwear.

It is strange that he does not feel uncomfortable lying in bed like this. He would, on a normal occasion, feel extremely exposed, but he does not experience that sensation after spending so many hours with Jim, both of them wading through a lake in nothing but briefs.

His bed is warm, much warmer than anywhere else in the house. He curls in on himself in an attempt to preserve that heat, tucking his legs into his chest and pulling the blankets over his head.

As his fingers warm up, he remembers Jim’s hand, how hot it had been. It was as though sunlight itself was coursing through his veins instead of blood. It had been a pleasant sensation when Jim touched him.

Spock glances at his hands, merely silhouettes in the total darkness, and wonders.

Shame colors his cheeks. It is illogical to attempt to recreate the feeling of another person's touch. Spock knows what he should and should not do; he knows what it looks like when his emotions gain control. But his curiosity outweighs his hesitancy. His desire for contact overrides his other thoughts.

One of Spock's hands tentatively grasps the other, his fingers lacing together, holding it in the same way that Jim had mere hours ago. His fingers do not hold the same warmth, but if Spock closes his eyes, he can remember what if felt like.

It is not unpleasant.

He stays this way, his mind quiescent as though he were in meditation, his blankets a comforting weight atop him. For one all-too-brief period, he has the stillness of mind to entertain the idea of attempting to sleep.

But he is never free from himself for long. Before he can drift off, he is suddenly unable to cease thinking of his father’s disappointment so clearly expressed despite his stoicism. In the darkness that all too quickly becomes suffocating, he is bombarded by the reminder of his inadequacy. But at the same time, the gentle pleasure of the thought of Jim’s hand in his remains a steady, tangible factor that he cannot ignore.

Too many conflicting emotions swirl in Spock's tired head, and he releases his hands, afraid that he may be overtaken by what he does not understand. A shaky breath escapes him, and he shoves his hands under his pillow and burrows his face into it to block out any outside influence that may come until the sun rises.

* * * * *

Spock wakes up cold. Sunlight streams through his window, dust floating in the lightened beam. He has overslept, but still, his body remains drained. He does not remember falling asleep, only that he had slipped in and out of consciousness for hours before finally drifting off, only to be woken several times by even the slightest sounds of the house settling in. As a result, he had only truly slept for approximately an hour.

He folds back the blankets, and the air chills his toes and almost makes him shiver. He can hear his mother moving around in another room, and he is glad she is awake. After the previous night, it is reassuring to have a person who will not be disappointed in him within reach.

Spock gets dressed, putting on his thickest socks, appreciating the warmth they give, but once he puts on his shirt, he feels unclean. He did not shower the night before, and the sweat and dirt that accumulated on his skin feel unpleasant against his clothes.

Spock crosses the living room and goes into the kitchen. His mother is sitting at the dining table, a mug of coffee between her hands, with the radio on, reading out a weather report, though she does not appear to be listening as she stares out of a dust-stained window with absent eyes.

He hesitates to break the silence, but when Lady Amanda does not notice him, Spock says, "Good morning, Mother."

She turns to him, blinking, and then smiles slowly. "Good morning, Spock. I’m; I was lost in thought."

"I apologize for returning so late yesterday," Spock says, realizing that he never saw her the night before or even told her that he was back.

"That's all right," his mother says, standing up. "As long as you don't get hurt and don't come home in the middle of the night, I trust you to come back."

Spock nods. "Thank you."

"Would you like some breakfast?" she asks, moving towards the refrigerator. "You're up later than usual, but it's not too late to eat. We still have some of those cherries and grapes that you like."

Spock nods, coming to help her. She hands him the plastic containers of fruit, and he rinses off small amounts of both for himself and a bunch of grapes for his mother, putting them into bowls when he is finished.

They sit at the table together in companionable silence. Spock spits the pits of his cherries into his hand and drops them back into the bowl while Lady Amanda resumes her contemplative gazing out the window.

They are on the North side of the house, so the window gives view only to endless fields of grain and a sliver of the road. There are no trees to see from here, especially none that Spock would want to see. The grove, lying eastward, is not visible.

Spock wonders if Jim is there, waiting for him. He had promised to come back. He said he would, but should he? Should he continue to enable himself to give in to such poor behavior? He knows what his _father's_ answer would be: no.

No, he should not go. It would not be beneficial for him to ever see Jim again. He knows this. It is a fact.

And yet, he is still going to.

After all, he made a promise, and Vulcans do not lie.

"Mother, may I spend the day outdoors again?"

Lady Amanda looks back at him, mild surprise raising her eyebrows. "Of course. I thought you would want to stay inside and read all day like you usually do."

Spock glances away from his mother. He knows that she would not be disappointed in him, but he still does not want to tell her about Jim yet.

"I went to the grove yesterday," he explains. "I found it a peaceful location, and I would like to spend more time there."

Lady Amanda smiles again. "Certainly. Would you like me to make you lunch to eat out there?"

"That would be appreciated," he says, dipping his head slightly in thanks.

Spock stands, taking their bowls with him to the sink and setting them there. There is a small window just above the sink, and through it, he can see an old but sturdy-looking bird feeder. Poking out of the little heart-shaped hole in the center is dry grass tangled with down. A mourning dove, one of Lady Amanda's favorite Terran species, is roosting there. The bird looks up suddenly and stares directly at Spock. They maintain eye contact until the bird takes wing, disappearing from view into the blue sky.

"Spock."

Spock blinks, startled from his stupor, and turns to his mother.

"There is dirt on the back of your neck. I think you should take a shower before you go anywhere." Lady Amanda’s face crinkles into a smile, and he can see curiosity in her eyes. It is out of character for him to allow himself to become as dirty as he did, but he does not know how to explain himself, so he simply agrees.

* * * * *

Going through the wheat field again, it smells differently. The rain has dried, and the late morning sun has already begun baking the earth. The grain surrounding him smells drier, more like something that would belong on his home planet. Spock plucks a head from a stalk as he passes, rolling it between his fingers until it begins to fall apart.

Spock breaks through the wall and stops, tightly clutching a small, cloth-covered parcel in his hands. Again, he looks up at the trees' peaks stretching into the sky, but this time, rather than being enthralled by their beauty, he is frozen by doubt. He has spent the entire walk second-guessing himself, rationalizing and worrying, but, with his jaw clenched in determination, he refuses to make a liar of himself yet.

"Jim?" he calls out as he ducks under the lower limbs. "Jim, are you here?"

He walks into the middle of the circle, turning his face to the leafy roof as a flower drifts from the green boughs before his eyes.

"Spock!"

Spock whirls around and is met by Jim standing face-to-face with him, so close their noses almost touch. 

"Spock, I was worried you weren't coming back," Jim says excitedly, grabbing Spock's sleeve.

"Of course I came back," Spock reassures. "Vulcans do not make promises they do not intend to keep."

Jim grins at him, the intensity of his happiness almost strong enough to bleed through Spock's sweater, radiating from his skin like the heat of his body. Then he glances down and asks, "What's that?"

Spock looks down as well. "I have brought lunch. It is for later." He unwraps the parcel, showing Jim the halved sandwich his mother made. Beneath them is his PADD. He had debated with himself for a long time as to whether he should bring it at all, but he decided in its favor in the end.

"And that?" Jim asks, pointing at the tablet. The PADD is no different in any way than any other model, and it is something that almost anyone in the Federation would recognize, but Spock has come to realize that Jim is not like almost anyone in the Federation. He simply must, as the human saying goes, roll with it.

"It is my PADD." He takes it out, wrapping the sandwiches back up. "I wished to show you my home planet, so I have downloaded as much public information as I was able."

Jim alights, curiosity within the creases of his smile. "Show me."

Spock sits down among the fallen flowers, Jim following close behind. He pulls up an image of Vulcan's solar system, which projects itself as a miniature hologram above the screen.

Jim begins to giggle uncontrollably, quickly devolving into hysterics as he falls backward, holding his stomach. A heavy breeze picks up suddenly, rushing past them both, taking flowers and leaves with it.

Spock shifts uncomfortably, waiting for Jim to finish, holding his hair down to the best of his ability.

When he does, Jim sits up and rubs his cheeks, which have turned bright red. His hair sticks up in the front, held aloft by the wind, and his eyes shine with wonder and mirthful tears that he has yet to wipe away.

"I'm sorry," he says between waning laughs. "You just have such cool stuff that I've never seen before. It's hard to believe it even exists." Jim leans forward and brushes a hand through the hologram, which shudders then resumes its shape.

"I do not understand how that would warrant a such a reaction," Spock says, furrowing his brows.

Jim shakes his head, smiling. "I don't either."

Spock stares at him.

"Don't worry about it, Spock." Jim waves it away and then leans in eagerly. "Now show me your stars."

Spock does. He explains the constellations and the mythology behind them from so many thousands of years ago. He shows him how the Milky Way looks from Vulcan, and the other planets in Vulcan's system. He also brings out the pictures of Vulcan landmarks, the mountains of L-Langon, Lake Yuron, and even Mount Seleya.

All the while, Jim absorbs everything attentively, inserting questions at points of interest. His questions, however, are strange. When the topic of Vulcan's cities is approached, he asks about the plant life. When Spock tells him about the low temperatures at night, he asks for images of the color of the sky. When Spock shows him pictures of Sehlats, he asks if they like being pets.

Jim has so many questions, so many things he wants to know of the world outside of himself. Spock wishes that he could take Jim to the places of which they speak so that he may know for himself the feeling of fine, red sand beneath his feet and the sensation of cool wind of Vulcan nights and the sight of a Vulcan sunrise, deep blue-black, fading into red at the edges as day breaks.

The last thing Spock shows Jim is a picture of his house. It is something that he was not sure if he wanted Jim to see. He was hesitant to involve him in his life outside of their little circle of trees, but he knew it was an illogical idea. _I must try to keep some decisions based on reason_ , he had told himself.

Spock's home on Vulcan is similar to most other Vulcans' dwellings: white stone cut into harsh, angular shapes with little embellishment. Yet it is different in many ways that are visible even from the outside. In the photograph, the edges of Lady Amanda's greenhouse are visible, as are some of the Earth plants she cultivates there. Also in the image are the brightly colored curtains which flutter out of the open windows, collecting sand and dust within their folds.

"Who is that?" Jim asks, pointing to the group standing in front of the house.

This is why Spock did not want to show this picture to Jim. "That is my family," he answers. "My father, Ambassador Sarek, my mother, Lady Amanda Grayson, my brother, Sybok, and my sister, Michael."

This is an old picture, taken at the insistence of Lady Amanda, years before Sybock was banished from Vulcan and before Michael left to attend Starfleet. Spock was only six years of age when it was captured, and it remains one of the few pictures that exist of his entire family together.

"Neither of the girls look like you," Jim says, pointing to Michael and Amanda.

"No," Spock agrees. "They are both human. Michael was adopted by my family when she was very young."

Jim nods, moving closer to the hologram. His eyes hover directly in front of the image of Spock. "You were so tiny. Still have the same hair, though."

Spock resists the urge to touch his hair self-consciously. "It is the standard Vulcan style."

Jim does not respond, still staring straight ahead.

Seven point four seconds pass. Then, "So, your mother is human. Is that why you came here?"

"Partially," Spock answers vaguely. Jim is broaching a subject that Spock does not prefer to linger on. He is so unsure of so many things, but he knows that he will answer any question Jim has for him. Spock trusts him inexplicably; he would tell Jim almost anything, which makes their trust something to be wary of. But he also trusts him _implicitly_ , and he cannot (or perhaps does not want to) resist it.

"What are the other reasons?"

The implicitness is coming into play.

"My people are steadfastly logical, but there are some who have yet to overcome the barrier of prejudice," Spock begins slowly, picking his words carefully. "As a half-human, many Vulcans do not accept me. I am ahead of my peers in my studies, and many of them cannot accept that someone with my so-called disadvantage would be able to surpass them academically. A few chose to react to this in with verbal abuse. When the consequences of this came into play, my mother sought to remove me from that environment for a time."

Jim leans back and lets out a low whistle, his eyes dark. "Did they try to fight you?"

“Negative.” Spock averts his gaze, embarrassed. "I attempted to fight them."

It is one of Spock's greatest failures in emotional control. His outbursts caused so much disruption to the point that his mother saw fit to leave the _planet_ , and his father, what must his father think? And Jim must think worse of him now. He should never have-

"Humph. They deserved it."

Spock is in a moment of complete vulnerability. He despises that he is, but it is a situation he put himself in. It is his own fault that his surprise shows clearly on his face.

"What?" Jim asks incredulously when he sees Spock’s incredulous expression. "Do you not think they did?"

"Quite the contrary," Spock says, raising an eyebrow at the curious turn of events. "It is my belief that they did in fact 'deserve it,' but I should not have allowed myself to succumb to my emotions in such a way regardless."

Jim's expression softens. "Right. I keep forgetting that's part of your culture. To hide your emotions and stuff."

"It is less of hiding and more of controlling," Spock explains, turning his body to face Jim. "When our emotions are controlled, they do not have power over us as humans' do."

Jim nods thoughtfully, biting his tongue so that the tip of it pokes out of his mouth. Spock stares at it, his mind elsewhere.

"Jim," Spock says, his eyes still on Jim's exposed tongue, "would you tell me about your home?"

Jim looks mildly surprised at this. "Sure," he says. "I don't have as much to say as you, but I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"I asked you yesterday when we first met where you are from," Spock says. "You did not answer me."

Jim frowns. "Yes, I did."

"You said that you were from 'here.' Where is here?"

"Right here," Jim says earnestly, pointing at the ground, trying to make Spock understand. "I am from right here. These trees. This is where I live. I thought you knew that?"

"Obviously, I did not." Spock looks around for anything that would give evidence to a person living here, but there is nothing in the trees or on the ground that would suggest this. And Jim is wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Perhaps he is homeless? But even then he would likely have _some_ possessions.

Jim gives Spock a strange look. "Are you okay?" he questions.

"I am concerned about your living situation."

Jim screws up his eyebrows. "Why?"

"A cluster of trees is not an acceptable home for a human."

"Spock, you don't understand." Jim looks at the trees helplessly. "I don't know how to explain.”

Jim and Spock sit in uncomfortable silence, both of them refusing to look at each other. Spock struggles to quash his frustration as Jim begins to breathe more heavily.

After a couple sniffles, Spock cannot keep looking away. He turns back to Jim, whose cheeks have become streaked with tears. Spock tenses up, unsure how to proceed. His... His _friend_ is crying, and he cannot allow it to continue, but he has very little in the form of reference material to emulate.

Spock does the only thing he knows to do. The only example he has to follow is his mother's from when Spock was very, very young. He grabs the sandwiches and scoots closer to Jim until their shoulders are pressed against each other and stiffly puts his arm around him. Neither moves aside from Jim's hushed shaking for what feels like an eternity.

After more than a few minutes pass, Spock breaks the silence, softly asking, "Jim, would you like a sandwich?"

Jim sniffs again and gives a watery laugh. "Yeah."

Spock gives him one, taking the other for himself. They eat in silence until Jim's tears finally run dry, and he poses a question.

"Spock are you mad at me?"

"Negative," Spock answers, awkwardly tightening his hold on Jim. He is not very good at this comforting activity.

"Good," Jim says, turning to bury himself in Spock's side. It is not uncomfortable, even though Jim is quite a bit taller than him. "I thought you would get angry and then never come back."

"I am a Vulcan. Vulcans do not make decisions on such fleeting things as emotions." Spock looks at Jim and thinks, _We are not supposed to, anyway_.

"Oh," Jim voices, taking another bite of his sandwich. Then, he says, "This is good."

"My mother made it."

They finish their food wordlessly, having run out of things to say. It is almost awkward due to so many unanswered questions remaining between them, but Jim radiates contentment, which calms Spock's anxieties.

Jim breaks away from Spock, leaving a cold absence where he had been curled into him. He falls back onto the ground, spreading his limbs to catch the scattered sunlight. He leans his head up and pats the ground next to him, grinning. Spock complies, lying down beside him in the bed of flowers.

Both of them say nothing, simply staring up at the green sky formed by hundreds of heart-shaped leaves. Spock finds himself becoming drowsy, his fitful sleep from the night before catching up with him, until Jim reaches out, seemingly out of nowhere, and taking his hand. The sudden emotional transference catches him off guard, but he strengthens his shields so that he can feel the warmth from Jim but none of his emotions.

He should remind Jim of his telepathy; he should, but he knows that Jim remembers. His heart beats faster at the thought, and he hopes desperately that Jim cannot feel his hand shaking.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock can see Jim staring straight ahead, a small smile gracing his lips. Spock feels a rush of affection for this peculiar boy that he just met, this boy that is so willing to hold his hand and share his warm, brilliant mind with him. He will feel shameful for it later, but he allows it for now. Jim looks back at him with soft eyes, and Spock knows that Jim feels it as well.


	4. The Pear Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock do a little thievery and get chased by dogs for their troubles.

Three weeks and four days pass as Spock falls into a routine. Every afternoon, he crosses the field and ducks into the catalpa grove, where Jim is waiting for him with a huge grin on his face that Spock almost returns. Then, he and Jim share a sandwich his mother made, talking quietly or not at all. They then spend the next three-to-six hours doing whatever they choose (though Jim is usually the one to come up with ideas). Sometimes, they go to the quarry and play in the water, discovering insects and reptiles hiding among the rocks and plants. Sometimes, they climb the flowering catalpa trees and pretend to be Starfleet officers surveying a new planet in the farthest reaches of the galaxy (Spock is getting better at pretending). Frequently, they hold hands. And then, as the sun sets all-too-quickly in the west, Spock bids Jim farewell. Jim asks him if he is coming back every time, and every time, Spock promises, yes, he is. For a few days, Spock asked Jim to come home with him out of a sense of protectiveness, but he has since stopped, knowing that Jim will refuse every time. Then he goes home. His mother is not there sometimes, having gone to the store or to some event in the town that the other Jim from the little store called Hope’s told her about. Usually, though, she is there, a book or PADD in hand, looking up when he walks inside with a small smile on her face. She asks him where he went, and he tells her, carefully neglecting to mention Jim, though he suspects that, on some level, she already knows. He feels guilty for lying by omission, but he does not know what to do otherwise. How could he explain his connection with Jim, an emotional, illogical boy, to his mother? Amanda would likely understand, he knows, but if he told her, he would be admitting to someone other than himself that his loyalty to logic is swayable, thus breaking a promise he made to himself long ago. How could he explain that? And she would tell Sarek, and Sarek must never know. He would not understand. So, steeped with guilt and confusion, Spock retires to his room until Lady Amanda tells him dinner is ready. They eat together, frequently in silence, and then he escapes her again. He tries to meditate, but it is even harder now than ever to find peace within himself. And then he goes to bed, his thoughts erratic and disorganized, and dreams of being with Jim.

It is a life of extreme duality he is leading. He does what he can to follow the Vulcan way, but his friendship - his affection - for Jim has become equally, if not more, important than upholding his race’s ideology. The echoes of his father’s criticisms and standards become less unbearable when Jim is near. But when he speaks with Sarek over holovid, every ounce of guilt and shame pent up inside him comes pouring out the moment the call ends. Spock is in unfamiliar territory, and how he will rationalize this to himself when he returns to Vulcan is still unclear.

* * * * *

“It’s a little cooler out today, Spock,” Lady Amanda tells him, smoothing down his already-in-place hair. “You may want to wear the jacket I got you the other day.”

“Yes, Mother.” Spock gently twists out of her grip, slightly embarrassed at her fiddling with his appearance without reason, and retrieves the new jacket from his room.

In his room, Spock slips on the jacket and stares at his reflection in the mirror for a moment. He does not look like himself. The jacket is of a Terran style, made of a fabric called “denim” with a stiff collar and cuffs. It is noticeably warmer in the jacket, but he still feels slightly uncomfortable. He puts his hands in the pockets and stands at an angle, tilting his head to look like the teenager in the advertisement he saw at the clothing store yesterday. He shakes his head immediately and turns away from the mirror. He looks ridiculous doing that. Illogical.

When he steps out of his room, he goes quietly, hoping his mother will have forgotten about him for the time being so that he may sneak out without garnering her attention.

Alas, she has not. As he neared the back door, she pokes her head out of the kitchen and calls, “Don’t forget your lunch!”

Spock turns back to get it, stiffly walking to his mother. She beams at him, adjusting his jacket collar.

“You look so handsome,” she tells him, patting his cheek briefly. “Just like your father when he was young. Except for the jacket, of course.”

She gives his shoulders a squeeze and releases him. Spock darts away, hoping that his hasty retreat is not taken offensively.

Outside, the air is cold, and he is grateful for his jacket despite his displeasure in his appearance. He tugs on his sleeves before climbing up and over the fence, his knees scraping against the metal links as he goes.

The catalpa trees are waiting for him when he arrives. The flowers of early summer have all but disappeared, long green seed pods replacing them. The moment he steps out of the wheat field, a gust of wind blows past him, ruffling his hair and caressing his cheeks.

“Jim?” he calls, ducking under the leaves into the shaded circle.

“Up here, Spock,” Jim answers from within the upper branches of one of the trees. He waves down at Spock pleasantly, grinning just as Spock knew he would be.

Spock clambers up the tree, managing to make a fool out of himself in the process, though Jim would not judge him for it. When he gets to him, Jim moves over to make room. Spock settles in beside him uneasily. The branch they are sitting on appears to be a slightly unstable perch for two people, but it does not give way nor does it even bend beneath them. 

“Hello, Jim,” Spock says, gripping the branch on either side of him.

“Hey, Spock.” Jim bumps their shoulders together. He gives Spock a once-over, and his lopsided grin grows. “Nice jacket. Looks good on you.”

“Thank you,” he says, a little spring of satisfaction bubbling in his chest. Spock is pleased that Jim appreciates his appearance. It is an oddly gratifying thing to be complimented by Jim.

“You bring me anything today?” Jim asks, poking Spock in the side playfully.

“As always.” Spock reaches into his pocket and retrieves the sandwich his mother made. He gives half to Jim.

“Wanna see something cool?” Jim asks, perching the sandwich on his knee.

“Certainly.”

Jim reaches out into the dense foliage. When he pulls his hand back, a long green insect with a thick black stripe and an odd horn on its rear end crawls curiously between his fingers, its bulbous black head bumping blindly into everything in its path.

“What is that?” Spock asks, his tone feebly masking the wonderment in his expression.

“A caterpillar,” Jim answers plainly. “He lives here. He used to be in the ground, but now he’s up here, eating the leaves so he can grow into a big ol’ moth.”

The caterpillar rears up, its stubby green legs grasping for something to hold on to. Jim holds it up to a leaf, watching as it crawls off his finger and begins gnawing away.

“Fascinating,” Spock says, eyes wide.

“Yeah!” Jim agrees. He shows Spock the underside of another leaf. “There’s tons of them here right now. See, there’s two on this one.”

The fat green insects inch along slowly, chewing holes in the leaves, seemingly unaware of the world around them.

Spock sticks out his finger in front of one of them, patiently waiting for it to notice him. When it does, it bumps its head into the tip of his finger three times before seeming to realize there is something in front of it. It climbs onto Spock’s hand at a leisurely pace, untroubled by the new terrain.

“Aren’t they cool?” Jim asks, leaning into him. “This is the only place around here that they live, so they show up every year right about this time.”

Spock does not respond, absorbed as he is by this new fascination. He turns his hand to follow the caterpillar, observing its unique abdominal undulations as it moves.

Jim does not say anything, silently watching as Spock tunes everything out except the fat, two-inch-long insect crawling about on his hand.

After six point four three minutes of observation, Spock decides that there is nothing more to be seen of this particular specimen and releases it back to its leaf. It continues eating again as if nothing had ever disturbed it.

When he looks back to his friend, Jim is smiling at him, a familiar, affectionate look on his face.

Spock gives him a look, eyebrow raised, but says nothing.

Jim rolls his eyes, but the affection in his gaze remains.

The two of them finally start on their sandwiches, which had lain forgotten. That morning Lady Amanda made a strange concoction of Terran foods that Spock would never have considered. She called it "egg salad," but it is beyond Spock as to why a salad would be considered a logical choice for sandwich filling in the first place. But, he supposes, the taste is agreeable, so he will not question it.

Between bites, Jim says, “I know what we’re doing today.”

“What is that?”

With a sly look in his eye and yellow egg salad on his cheek, Jim replies, “It’s a surprise.”

Spock raises an eyebrow and finishes his sandwich.

* * * * *

Spock had not been concerned about Jim’s choice of activity for the day, as they are usually entertaining and generally safe, but when Jim leads Spock through the wheat field, taking him farther than they have ever ventured and refusing to answer any of his questions (“You’ll see when we get there,” Jim says vaguely with a mysterious smile), Spock becomes somewhat on edge.

Nearly thirty-five minutes of hiking later, Jim finally stops them at a wooden fence, crouching down to hide behind a nearby bush, waving Spock over to him. Beyond the fence lies the smooth, grassy lawn of a large house. Parallel to the house is a thick orchard planted in neat rows. The trees bear green, teardrop-shaped fruit Spock has never seen before.

Strangely compelled to whisper, Spock asks, “What are those?”

“Pears,” Jim whispers back. “Why are we whispering?”

“I do not know,” Spock answers, his voice still soft. “Why are we here?”

“Pears,” Jim repeats, his lips curling.

“You are suggesting that we _steal_?” Spock exclaims incredulously.

“Shhhh! There’s dogs over there!” Jim points to a pair of white, pointy-eared dogs sleeping on the porch of the house. “Don’t worry; they’ll grow more. Nobody will even notice. C’mon, Spock! It’ll be fun!”

Jim takes Spock’s hand imploringly and sticks out his lip.

Spock sighs. “I believe that you are a bad influence on me.”

Jim beams at him and squeezes his hand tightly before whipping his shirt off.

Spock falls backward, scandalized, and sputters, “What are you doing?”

“Making a sack, duh,” Jim answers, tying the sleeves closed.

“Oh,” Spock voices, embarrassed.

“Okay, let’s go!” Jim says when he finishes forming his shirt-sack. Without waiting, Jim launches himself over the fence.

Spock shakes his head resignedly and follows him, though much more slowly, into the yard.

Jim is already snatching fruit from the lower branches and shoving them into his makeshift sack when Spock reaches him.

“Do not take so many,” Spock hisses at Jim’s rapid movements.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim says. “We just gotta go fast.”

“Quickly,” Spock mutters, suppressing a frown. He grabs three pears from their branches and sets them in Jim’s sack, his heart pounding, the threat of getting caught looming over him and hastening his hand.

As they continue pulling fruit down, Spock begins to notice that no matter how many they take, the number of pears in the trees remains the same. Wordlessly, Spock slowly pulls off a pear. The place where it was is still empty, but there are somehow still seven pears on that branch.

His hand stilled by this realization, Spock blurts out, “Jim are you doing that?”

“Shhhh! The dogs will hear us,” Jim shoots back, grabbing another pear. The sack is full, so Spock shoves some in his jacket pockets. When those become full, he pulls the edge of his shirt up to hold more, so bewildered by what is happening that he does not even think about his actions.

“Jim-”

“Spock, SHH!”

They both freeze. The air is still for what feels like an eternity, and Spock’s heart skips a beat when he catches the faint but growing louder sounds of eight paws bounding across the lawn. Then the barking starts.

“Run!” Jim shouts, but both of them were already sprinting away before he says anything.

They throw themselves over the fence, not looking back to see how close the dogs are. Spock, in his haste, catches his foot in one of the links, accidentally throwing the load from his shirt as he flips over the fence and lands hard on his elbows.

“Spock!” Jim drops his sack and makes a beeline for him, dragging him up.

Jim scoops up his sack, and both of them, spiked with adrenaline, dash into the shelter of the wheat field.

Returning to the grove is a hectic blur. They tear through the field, tripping over uneven ground, wheat whipping their faces. Spock is strangely exhilarated, his heart racing in his side. The rules he has so long upheld have been broken and, at that moment, everything and anything is possible.

Jim and Spock finally skid to a stop in the catalpa grove, their chests heaving. Jim drops his sack of pears and doubles over, gasping. Spock’s knees suddenly feel weak, and he sinks to the ground, lying on his stomach, his head rested on his arms, his nose buried in the sweet-smelling soil. Beside him, Jim collapses onto his back, and their heavy breathing is the only noise in the otherwise silent grove.

Spock turns his head, and his eyes lock with Jim’s, and, in their giddy, post-adrenaline rush thrill, they both explode into laughter.

Spock laughs and laughs and laughs until he cannot breathe, and then he is hiccuping in between them, and the sounds he is making cause him to laugh even harder, and there are tears in his eyes, and his stomach hurts but in a good way, and Jim is grabbing his hand, and everything is wonderful.

Spock surprises himself with his ability to drop all pretenses of control in _seconds_ and curl into himself, every laugh he has held throughout the years all seeming to come out at once. He laughs even longer than Jim, who watches him after he is done, a smile playing on his lips, until Spock, gasping for breath again, calms down.

A few minutes later, when both of their laughter has petered out and their breathing has steadied, the two of them lie there, their cheeks twinging from smiling.

When his tumultuous, ecstatic thoughts settle into a disorganized calm, the gentle sunlight seeping over from Jim through their intertwined fingers comes into focus. It is so beautiful, and Spock wants so badly to feel it in its entirety. 

Spock sits up, their hands still connected, all of his emotions close to breaking the surface, all of his defenses weakened. His throat feels tight but not from laughter. Jim wriggles into a sitting position, looking strangely at Spock. He probably can sense Spock’s altered mood, Spock realizes, but he feels no compulsion to hide anything.

“I have not done that for as long as I can remember,” Spock says softly. “It was… pleasant.

Jim pokes Spock’s nose, another tiny connection like an electric shock sparking at the contact. “You should do it more.”

Spock contemplates this, raising his hand to put it over his nose, the spot where Jim touched tingling slightly. “I cannot do that,” he says simply, his tone flat.

Jim reaches out and catches Spock’s other hand. “Why not?"

“I am a Vulcan. Or, at least, half-Vulcan,” Spock says, staring at their clasped hands. “Frequent, overwhelming release of emotion, allowing it to take over me physically as well as mentally, could harm me.”

“Then why did it feel good?” Jim asks, rubbing slow circles into Spock’s palm, unaware of the significance of that.

Spock, now distracted, swallows and answers, “I… I do not know why, Perhaps it was my half-human lineage, perhaps not. My human desire to express my emotions and my Vulcan need for control are constantly at war with each other. My mind is rarely at rest, so it is at times difficult to understand why certain things occur.”

Spock had not meant to say that much.

At first, Jim does not respond, and he stops the circling motion of his thumb on Spock’s palm. Spock begins to feel sick at his stomach. Has he overshared? Has he made Jim uncomfortable? He should never have said anything at all-

Breaking through the cloud of negative emotions forming with a frown, Jim says, “Hey, you turned all dark. What happened?”

Spock fumbles for words, an explanation out of reach. “Jim, I do not know how to tell - how to explain. It is illogical.” Shame colors his cheeks, and he feels the contrast of the cold air on his hot face bitterly.

Jim scans Spock’s face, his eyebrows drawn together. “That’s okay, Spock. Not everything has to be logical all the time.”

Spock sighs imperceptibly, relaxing. “No, indeed not.” He pauses, and a hint of a smile touches his lips. “For example, your notion that stealing is ‘fun.’”

Jim’s too-serious expression breaks, shifting into a brilliant grin. “It wasn’t _stealing_ , and besides, you totally had fun. I know you did; I can feel it.”

“Vulcans do not have fun.” Spock raises an eyebrow at his friend.

“Sure they don’t,” Jim says, his eyes sparkling. “Was it at least exciting then?”

“Affirmative,” Spock replies. “I believe it is the most exciting thing I have ever done in my life.”

“Even more exciting than when we met?”

Spock sobers instantly. They lock eyes. Whatever remained of his walls is gone now; he is so vulnerable. Their hands are connected, and Jim’s mind is so bright.

Spock projects his sincerity as he says, “Every day that I spend with you is more exciting and unbelievable than the last, so much so that I often do not know what to do with it.”

It was an extremely emotional and - if his experience with human media is telling of anything - cliche statement, but Jim’s eyes grow infinitely fonder. He squeezes Spock’s hand, sending an overwhelming wave of feelings and sensations through their connection. Spock experiences so many emotions at once ( _pleasurehappinesscontentmenteuphoria_ ), though he is unable to tell whose emotions he is feeling, and for one terrifying moment he cannot distinguish his own mind from Jim’s.

Spock lets go immediately. Jim gives him a confused, hurt look, and Spock flinches away from it.

“Forgive me, I-”

“No, Spock, I’m sorry-”

They trip over their words, both trying to speak at the same time until finally, Jim cuts Spock off.

“Spock, stop,” he says forcefully. “You didn’t even do anything.”

Spock clenches his hands into fists, refusing to meet Jim’s eyes. “I saw the look on your face, Jim,” he says stiffly. “I should not have been so… so _intimate_ with you in the first place. It is not like a Vulcan to do such things, but I was in a moment of weakness, and it is difficult not to share my thoughts with you constantly because your mind is immensely fascinating to me, so I could not help myself, but that is not an excuse-”

Suddenly realizing that he is rambling and likely making little sense, Spock snatches one of their pears from Jim’s sack and takes an enormous bite out of it, his teeth grazing the core. The soft, grainy fruit crushes easily between his teeth, and he gulps it down, taking another huge bite before any more words escape his mouth. It is sweet, sweeter than anything he would usually eat, but it is serving its purpose.

While Spock devours the fruit, Jim unties the sleeves and torso of his shirt, releasing the pears to tumble into a pile on the ground, and pulls it over his head, sighing softly as his limbs settle to his sides when he is done. He seems to be waiting, which makes Spock nervous.

When Spock swallows the last of his pear, Jim blurts out what he had been holding in.

“How is my mind fascinating?”

Spock was hoping that Jim would not ask him to elaborate on that. It was an unfounded hope, as Jim is a highly inquisitive individual, but Spock had hoped anyway.

Spock sets his core on the ground, his fingers sticky with sugary juice. “Jim,” he starts awkwardly, “you know that my species is touch-telepathic.”

Jim nods, looking curious.

“And you know that when you and I touch each other, our stronger emotions transfer to the other.”

“Yeah,” Jim says. “And you said that you can’t really read my mind or anything unless you do that mind-meld thing.”

Spock takes a deep breath. Jim might as well know. It would be illogical to keep it a secret any longer.

“That first day, when our minds first came into contact, I felt-” he grasps for the correct word, for what one thing could encompass their inherent connection? “I felt… complete. It was as if you were one half, I was the other, and we had come together to be whole for the first time.”

Spock pauses, looking at Jim to gauge his response. Jim stares at Spock, his kaleidoscopic eyes unreadable in the shade of the trees.

“Jim,” Spock says quietly, pleadingly.

“Spock, I felt that, too,” Jim says earnestly, though still sounding confused. “I don’t know what it means, but I know I felt it then, and I feel it all the time when we hold hands and stuff.”

He leans over and grabs Spock’s hand, sticky as it is with pear juice. The connection comes alive immediately, sparking like a flame and then evening out to form a steady pathway. Jim’s brightness is back, filling the void left from their sudden separation before. Spock feels warm but still hesitant.

“I do not know how to handle this situation logically,” Spock whispers, his throat tight.

“Why’s it gotta be logical?” Jim says softly. “You’ve got emotions; I can feel them. Emotions aren’t logical, so why do you have to be now?”

“It is all I have, Jim. If I do not have logic, then I have nothing.”

Jim tightens his grip on Spock’s fingers. “You’ve got me, don’t you?”

Spock, his eyes wide and awestruck, blurts, “Jim, I would have your thoughts.”

Despite his indelicacy and suddenness, Jim knows what he means. He may not know the specifics, but he trusts Spock. He nods once, their eyes locked as tightly and surely as their fingers.

Spock raises the hand not held by Jim and carefully arranges his fingers on Jim’s meld points: just below his lips, the side of his nose, his cheekbone, below his ear, his jaw.

Jim hesitantly raises his own hand and copies Spock.

“Jim, you do not need to touch my meld points,” Spock says.

“Oh,” he says, though he does not move.

Spock squeezes Jim’s hand. “You are sure you wish to join minds with me?” he asks. “I have never done this before with a human.”

“Don’t worry about the human thing,” Jim says. “Just do it; I want you to.”

Spock gives Jim’s face one last look before squeezing his eyes shut.

* * * * *

__

__

Physical sensations melt away until there is nothing. It is dark, darker than it should be. No light filters through his lids, no strange geometric patterns dance behind his eyes. It is a total absence of any sort of light as though he had opened his eyes out in the void of space.

__

__

__

Despite his total lack of vision, Spock can sense a presence. It is far away, and he cannot see it, but he must get to it. It is imperative that he reaches it. He begins to move, but he cannot feel his limbs. His muscles do not contract or stretch, his joints do not rotate, he cannot even feel his feet touching the ground, but he knows he is moving because he can sense the presence getting closer.

__

__

__

Even as he grows nearer, he still does not see anything. When he stands directly in front of the presence, he simply knows that it is there. For a moment, he hesitates, almost touching it but not. He does not know what it is, and he is afraid.

__

__

__

But then a voice, despite the absence of vibrations to carry it, calls out to him, and he knows who it is.

__

__

__

Spock reaches out with both arms and envelopes the presence, and the darkness explodes into a brilliant, dazzling light that is unmistakably Jim.

__

__

__

Then, without even a moment to catch their breath, Spock and Jim are one. Every thought, every emotion, every sensation is shared by both until their minds coalesce into a single stream of consciousness. Nonlinear memories flit past, allowing only snatches to be caught like conversations in another room.

__

__

* * * * *

__

_They lie on I-Chaya’s soft belly, his breathing lifting their head up and down and up and down. They are reading a text on Kolinahr, and their stomach is in knots, but they would never betray it._

* * * * *

_They stand tall in mid-spring. The sun is warm on their leaves, and all is still, but something in the air says that change is coming soon._

* * * * *

_Lady Amanda cradles them and Michael to her chest even though they are both too big to be held. She reads Alice in Wonderland aloud. The text is often meaningless and confusing, but they like to hear their mother talk._

* * * * *

_They are so much shorter than their tormentors._

* * * * *

 _A heavy breeze whips through their branches, taking yellowed leaves and dry seed pods with it. The air is hazy with particle pollution, but at least the sun still touches them._

* * * * *

_The sun burns brightly, turning the skin of the young girl bright pink. They have not been in this form since their early days, but the girl’s presence woke them. She looks up and holds up her caterpillar to him with a gap-toothed grin._

* * * * *

_Lady Amanda tries to hug them when they come home with a bloody nose for the last time. They maneuver out of her reach, ashamed that they were not able to staunch the bleeding before they arrived home, their sleeve soaked with green blood._

__

__

_* * * * *_

__

_A boy has fallen asleep under their branches. He’s different than the last one who came to them. His soul calls directly to theirs, not just outward. It’s been a long time, but they will be human again._

__

__

_* * * * *_

__

_T’Pring looks coldly at them._

__

__

_* * * * *_

__

_The wind brushes empty branches._

__

__

_* * * * *_

__

_The Earth is amazingly blue and green below them._

__

__

_* * * * *_

__

_Their eyes meet._

__

__

_* * * * *_

__

Spock pulls back, suddenly feeling drained. The meld went deeper than he had intended. Jim opens his eyes and stares at him, his mouth agape. 

__

“Jim,” Spock breathes, “you are _t’hy’la_ to me.”

__

“ _T’hy’la_?” Jim asks, pronouncing it entirely wrong.

__

“An extremely rough approximation of the correct accent, but it is adequate,” Spock teases breathlessly. Their noses are nearly touching.

__

“What’s it mean?” Jim’s breath brushes against Spock’s face. It is pleasantly warm against his cold skin.

__

Spock must think to answer that question; his mind is not functioning at full capacity, not with Jim so near. It does not help that it is not an easy topic to explain, especially not in Standard.

__

“It is an ancient Vulcan bond,” Spock says slowly, carefully picking his words. “It is the intertwining of our very souls. The closest translation is three words: friend, brother, and lover, but even that is not quite correct.”

__

Jim cocks his head. “Which one are we?”

__

Spock pauses, looking at Jim thoughtfully. Then he says, “I… I do not know.”

__

“Can we be all three?” Jim asks curiously.

__

Spock’s lips twitch. “I do not see why not. The _t’hy’la_ bond is extremely rare even among Vulcans, so there is likely nothing that may stop us.”

__

Jim grins at him. “Awesome.”

__

“Indeed.” 

__

“So is this _t’hy’la_ bond the reason I can still feel you here?” Jim points to his temple. “It feels kinda like when we held hands. Sorta quiet, I guess, but still there.”

__

Spock blinks in confusion, but then he notices it. Like a thought in the back of his mind, there is Jim, burning quietly but brightening everything he touches. It feels so natural for him to be there that he had not noticed his presence. Suddenly, his mind does not feel quite so lonely, his thoughts less hostile. The dark recesses in which his anxiety lurks are not so frightening with Jim’s little flame in occupancy.

__

Spock’s eyes well with tears that do not quite spill over as he launches himself forward to attach himself to Jim.

__

“Spock!” Jim exclaims, throwing a hand behind him to hold himself up and wrapping the other around Spock.

__

Spock buries his head in Jim’s neck, his face hot and his breathing ragged. “Jim,” he whispers. “Jim, _t’hy’la_ , _ashayam_ …”

__

Jim strokes the hair at the nape of Spock’s neck, laughing softly. “What does that one mean?”

__

Spock huffs a quiet laugh and says, “Sun. You’re my sun.”

__

“I thought I was trees,” Jim replies playfully.

__

Spock’s grip on Jim’s shoulder tightens almost imperceptibly. Yes, he had almost forgotten that. It complicates things, and he does not know what to do or say of it now.

__

“You are both,” Spock says, pushing those thoughts away. He will concern himself with it later.

__

They are both quiet then. The emotion around them transcends words, and to fill the air with them needlessly would ruin it.

__

The wind brushes past them gently, and Spock is so content there, curled up half on top of Jim, that he very nearly dozes off listening to his _t’hy’la’s_ heartbeat.

__

__

_* * * * *_

__

Some time later, as the sun nears the edge of the western horizon, Spock suddenly straightens up, looking accusatorially at Jim.

__

“Jim!” he exclaims. “You were the one replacing the pears!”

__

Jim looks up at him, confused. “Well I mean it’s not _hard_.”

__


	5. Ozh'esta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is quiet.

Following a reluctant separation as the sun fell beyond the horizon, Spock feels the physical absence and mental presence of Jim. It is a contradictory sensation, content yet still lacking, but it is the knowledge of potential total fulfillment that makes being away from Jim bearable.

Spock, as he sits across from his mother at dinner, is acutely aware of a kernel of anxiety forming in his chest. His mother is a reminder to him that what he has with Jim has, in all likelihood, never occurred before _ever_ , and the only people who could have some semblance of advice are his _parents_ , the last people on earth he would want to ask. His mother would surely help, but it would somehow make it back to his father, he knows, even if he asked her not to tell him. He is alone in this.

 _No_ , he reminds himself, _not alone._

In the corner of his mind, distance fading him, Jim stirs gently, aware of Spock’s turmoil.

_Not alone._

* * * * *

In the late hours, Spock taps away on his PADD, searching. He finds nothing of use to him, but he cannot be disappointed as he knew it would be a fruitless search. He knew it would not give him anything, but he still looked, hoping in vain that there would be at the very least theories that might be of assistance. He found articles on the _t’hy’la_ bond, but it was nothing that he did not already know.

His frustration overcomes him and manifests as a noise from the back of his throat. He tosses the PADD away. It lands beside him on his bed, bouncing dangerously close to the edge. It would be logical to pick it up and move it to a safer location, but he does not do this. Instead, he falls backwards onto his pillows, a small sigh escaping him. His movements send a disturbance through the mattress, sending the PADD clattering to the floor. Even now, Spock does not move to pick it up. He reaches out to Jim, who responds sluggishly, almost sleepily, his mind curling around Spock’s and resting there.

 _Emotions are so… difficult_ , Spock says to him, though he is unsure if Jim knows he has said it. He has never received a direct thought from Jim or understood actual words, only emotions and vague ideas of what is going on in Jim’s mind. He wonders if others with a _t’hy’la_ bond can receive thoughts from one another, if their bond is just so new that it has yet to become strong enough for it.

There are too many questions, too many things he cannot find through research. The only people who might be able to give him some answers are certain Vulcan elders, but he would have to tell his parents to receive their assistance. It would require much that he is not sure he possesses to bring up this particular subject with them.

Thinking about his parents causes a ripple of anxiety in him, so Spock stops. Thinking about nearly _anything_ causes him anxiety, and he wishes (wishing, wishing, wishing, always wishing; he allows himself so much these days) that he could just stop thinking for an hour or two.

Sharply inhaling, Spock forces himself upright. He pulls his legs up and crosses them, not even bothering to get out his mat. He is going to _meditate_ , and he is going to do it _right_. He _has_ to. He may be allowing himself to do such human things as wish, however illogical it is, but he needs stillness of mind to function as a half-Vulcan. That is something he has all but forgotten with the events of the past few weeks, but now, with the torrents of terrifying emotions overwhelming him in the face of such uncertainty, he must remember it.

Spock takes a deep breath, filling his diaphragm all the way up to his lungs. He holds it until he begins to feel light-headed, and then he releases it, his heart beating slower now. Then, he closes his eyes, blocking out his darkened room, and begins to sort through the chaos of his mind, Jim’s calm, easy presence like a sleeping shadow, muted and reassuring, but with him every moment.

* * * * *

Spock comes out of deep meditation three point eight hours later feeling tired. It is an almost pleasant feeling, unlike the bone-deep exhaustion he has become accustomed. It is the tiredness of a quiet mind instead of an overworked, disorganized one.

He realizes with gentle satisfaction that his journey to reaching this level of peace began with Jim’s influence. When he met Jim, he thought that he would only make him worse, but some gap within him has been bridged simply with a bond.

Spock sheds his soiled clothes and changes into his sleeping attire with a smile on his lips that belonged neither to his Vulcan nor his Human half but to himself in his entirety.

* * * * *

Sunlight breaks through the curtains in Spock’s window, sending slits of light across his eyes that rouse him to consciousness. He almost fights it off and sinks back into the comfortable oblivion of sleep, but the rays streaking across his pillow do not allow it.

Outside of his room, Spock can hear his mother talking to someone. His chest contracts when he recognizes the voice speaking back to her. It is undoubtedly his father’s voice, though fainter through the PADD’s speaker.

He again considers going back to bed to avoid interaction with Sarek, but if he is called upon, he must be dressed so as not to receive thinly veiled judgement from his father.

So, with his heart beginning to beat faster in his side, Spock changes into a loose Vulcan robe that he has not worn in weeks in favor of the Terran clothes he has been wearing. It appears that his realization the night before has done little to stem his desire to please his father. But perhaps, like his bond with Jim, it is something that can be built upon over time.

With that thought to comfort him, Spock opens the door to his room.

Lady Amanda turns at the disturbance, smiling gently as she sees him. She motions with her hand for him to come over, and he does, attempting at the outward appearance of a perfect Vulcan child.

Spock stops by Lady Amanda’s shoulder, looking over her to his father’s image. He looks the same as he always does, with the exception of his eyes. They are duller, Spock thinks, and there are slight shadows below. The negotiations have likely come to an extremely difficult period for a Vulcan of Sarek’s caliber to show exhaustion physically in response.

“Father,” Spock says, raising his hand in a _ta’al_.

“Spock.” Sarek also lifts his hand, taking in Spock’s appearance in one sweep of his critical gaze. He feels as though his father is looking directly into his _katra_ , nitpicking every inadequacy. But Jim is there, too, and Spock takes refuge in that memory.

“He was just telling me about the Melkotian negotiations,” Lady Amanda informs Spock, giving Sarek a look to indicate that he should repeat what he has told her already.

“Indeed,” Sarek responds, not seeming to understand the cue. “I must close this communication within three point seven minutes, my wife. The negotiations are at a sensitive point; we cannot risk contact until they have concluded should any ambassador be swayed by outside interference.”

Lady Amanda makes an indignant noise. “They do not truly think that someone talking to his wife and son is going to cause an interplanetary war, do they?” She is only partially jocular. In her voice is a hint of frustration and possibly, if Spock is not wrong, sadness.

“The Melkotians are suspicious of all Federation members,” Sarek says evenly.

Lady Amanda raises an eyebrow at the implications. “Do they have reason to be?”

“I have seen nothing yet that would suggest so.”

Lady Amanda quiets at that, her mouth set, and Spock gets the impression that she is contemplating driving back to San Francisco and challenging the notion herself. But then, spurred on by the shortage of time, she asks, “How long?”

“It is difficult to determine,” is Sarek’s reply. “I estimate two weeks at the shortest, but the Melkotians are not quick to believe in the Federation’s veracity.”

He gives his wife a steady look, and Lady Amanda’s eyes soften, some of the angry fire in them dimming. To Spock, it appears that some form of silent communication has occurred, though he does not know what has been said. He is suddenly aware of how little he knows about his parents’ relationship.

Sarek bids them farewell then and signs off, exactly two point seven seconds before the time he had specified. Lady Amanda remains staring at the blank PADD for an additional eleven seconds, her shoulders deflated slightly.

Finally, she turns to Spock, and her eyes, always so telling, are weary.

“I do wish these negotiations would be over soon,” she says to him.

Spock does not respond, unsure what she would want him to say.

But she gives him a fond look as if that was exactly what she was expecting and reaches out to put her hand on Spock’s head. “Your father would call it illogical, my wishing.”

He agrees; Sarek would say that. Not long ago, he would have said so as well, but he thinks he understands it now. Understands wishing that you could see someone, missing them when they are not before you. If it is illogical, then so be it.

* * * * *

Spock is not as pleased about being out of contact with his father as he thought he would be. As he crosses the field, surrounded by the nodding wheat, some part of him is. He will not have to look his father in the eye and pretend he does not _feel_ , pretend he is not human in so many ways. But that part is small in comparison to the part that _hurts_ , the part that saw the look in his mother’s eyes, the part that sympathizes. To be happy about something that causes his mother pain in inconceivable. He is grateful for his more placid state of mind, otherwise he is unsure he would be able to be as controlled as he feels.

Above him, a mourning dove passes, its distinctive coo faintly audible. Spock stops, standing on his toes to watch it fly in the direction of home, but it disappears quickly, its grey plumage blending in to the clouds forming in the West.

When Spock enters the catalpa grove, Jim is waiting for him, lying spread-eagled with his eyes closed. A single ant scurries across his exposed palm, but he does not appear to notice it.

“Hi, Spock,” Jim says. He opens his eyes and looks up at Spock, the watery sunlight trickling through the leaves to stain his cheeks.

Spock does not answer him, only settling down beside Jim’s head and resting his hands in the cool soil. He inhales deeply, his lungs filling with the thick air that had felt so uncomfortable when he took his first step onto Earth. It is strange how quickly everything has changed, he thinks, how quickly he grew used to breathing Earth’s air.

Jim rolls over onto his stomach and props himself up on his elbows. He studies Spock’s face, working through the emotions they can both feel.

Wordlessly, he reaches out and pokes Spock in the stomach.

Then, he rolls back over and shifts to rest his head in Spock’s lap. He is warm and does not expect anything from Spock, not even the sandwich he forgot to bring today.

* * * * *

The sun angles lazily in the sky, still above the horizon but drifting lower and lower as the quiet seconds pass. Spock and Jim climbed one of the trees thirty-seven minutes ago, and there they sit, their feet dangling and their thighs touching. The ground is ten feet below them, and Spock is not afraid at all.

Jim holds Spock’s hand. There is a stark difference between the heat where they touch and the cold where they do not, and thinking about that makes Spock’s chest feel tight like he wants to cry except he does not.

Spock turns his head slightly to tuck into Jim’s neck. They watch the roiling clouds in the distance changing shape against the pale sky, darkening the horizon.

They have only known of their bond for a day. To Spock, that day has felt like a decade, and he wonders what it is like to Jim, who existed for years before Spock was even born. An hour, a minute, a second? Perhaps, to him, it is only a day, Spock thinks. Then he thinks that it is strange that he can know so much about Jim but at the same time so little, despite their bond.

He does not need to know everything to love him, he concedes as Jim swings his legs gently.

* * * * *

“See you tomorrow?” Jim asks as he always does.

“Of course,” Spock answers distantly, his eyes bemused and staring just over Jim’s shoulder.

Jim squeezes Spock’s hand to catch his attention.

Spock’s eyes flick to Jim’s, and he returns the squeeze, closing some of the distance between them.

“I apologize for my preoccupation,” Spock says.

“You’re okay,” Jim replies, a comforting smile touching his lips.

Spock looks down at their hands, thinking.

He releases Jim, holding up his hand with two fingers pointed out, just like he’s seen his parents do all his life. Jim locks eyes with him, confused, but Spock just looks straight back until Jim realizes what he is asking him to do.

His two fingers lightly touch Spock’s, and he inhales sharply as their bond turns electric, crackling with pleasure and unity. In that moment of pure togetherness, Spock feels as though he has found the meaning of life, with his heart thundering in his side and his _t’hy’la_ so near. He is utterly complete. Surely this feeling, this simple feeling, is the part of his soul he had been missing, the part he denied himself for so long. It is gentle and good and welcoming, and no one can ever take it away from him.

Jim’s eyes are warm, golden brown, and if Spock continues looking into them, he will never be able to tear himself away, so he rests his forehead on Jim’s shoulder, reveling in their closeness.

* * * * *

Spock arrives home at the same time as his mother, who, according to the tinfoil-covered dish she is carrying, has been visiting Jim, the other Jim, and his partner. During their time here, Lady Amanda has become quite fond of the two of them.

Lady Amanda turns when she hears Spock closing the back door and smiles. “You’re home a bit late today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

“Indeed.” Spock sits down on the floor to remove his boots as Lady Amanda similarly toes off her shoes.

“How was your day?” she asks, genuinely curious rather than attempting to fill the silence.

Spock pauses, the events of his day flashing behind his eyes. It was a strange, contemplative day, devoid of action until the last moment, yet the _ozh’esta_ Jim allowed him makes his heart race at the mere thought.

“Adequate,” he says.

"Really, that good?" she jokes as she removes her jacket.

She crosses the living room into the kitchen, tossing her jacket onto the back of her chair as she passes it, and puts the dish on the counter. Spock stands, the cold of the floor seeping through his socks, and joins her.

“Jim’s partner gave this to me.” She peels off the tinfoil and crumples it into a ball. “They said they made it themself. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but they said it’s vegetarian.”

Spock looks into the dish. He does not know what it is either. It is likely some kind of casserole, a food that humans are oddly partial to, but it does not look appetizing.

Lady Amanda opens a drawer and pulls out a spoon. She flashes Spock a smile, saying, “Here goes.”

She scoops out a spoonful and eats it. A smile grows on her face.

“Green bean casserole,” she says, swallowing, “though it certainly doesn’t look like it.” She gets another spoonful. “I haven’t had this since I married your father.”

Spock gets his own spoon and tries it. He agrees that it is “not bad,” though he could do without the crunchy stick things on top.

Lady Amanda reaches out and brushes a streak of dirt off of Spock’s sleeve that he had not noticed.

“You get so dirty,” she tuts affectionately. “What do you even do all day?”

Spock hesitates. He avoids this question, innocent as it seems, as often as he can, but he does not wish to hide Jim from his mother anymore, not when he has become as important as he is.

“I have made a… friend,” he admits carefully.

“A friend?” she questions, and Spock can tell she is tamping down her excitement so as not to make him uncomfortable.

“Affirmative.” He straightens his shirt before continuing. “His name is Jim.”

“Like the Jim at Hope’s?”

“No,” Spock says. “They are not similar.” Though, Spock remembers, he is named after him to an extent.

“You should bring him back here for lunch tomorrow,” Lady Amanda suggests. “I’d like to meet him.”

Spock is not yet sure if he wants those two parts of his life to converge just yet, but he does not refuse.

* * * * *

That night, the stars are shrouded with thick black clouds that threaten to pour over any moment. Thunder in the distance tells them it will be a hectic night, but the artificial flames in the fireplace still crackle cheerfully.

Spock and his mother sit in the living room in separate chairs with books of their own. Lady Amanda is engrossed in a copy of _The Two Towers_ , and Spock skims through an extremely out-of-date physics textbook. His mother turns a page, the thin paper making a small fluttering noise. Spock glances up at her, contentment making him feel drowsy.

During dinner, she seemed to notice something about Spock. She had watched him out of the corner of her eye as though trying to figure out what had changed, but she must have recognized it as something positive, because she smiled constantly throughout the meal.

Spock had seen her watching him, a streak of happiness in his chest, and now, as she curls around her book, he thinks that he will tell her everything soon. There will be a “right” moment. He does not know when, and he is not sure if he is only hoping for it, but if it is only a hope, then he accepts it for what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my apologies for the wait, but you can't rush crazy, as they say haha. Thank you so much for reading. As always, please notify me of any HTML errors, as they are my one true weakness.  
> <3


	6. Nothing Gold Can Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nature's first green is gold,  
> Her hardest hue to hold.  
> Her early leafs a flower;  
> But only so an hour.  
> Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
> So Eden sank to grief,  
> So dawn goes down to day.  
> Nothing gold can stay.

Vulcans do no experience time the same way humans do. Humans experience time relatively; seconds feel like hours, months drag on, years pass in an instant. For Vulcans, every day, hour, minute, and second passes by them equally, lasting only for as long as the particular moment actually is.

It must be on account of Spock’s ancestry that the time he has spent on Earth seems to have passed so quickly. As he looks back on how many days have come and gone, he thinks that each second felt half as long as it should have, passing even now at a speed too quick to keep up with.

When he wakes up on a quiet morning, slits of early light piercing the shadowy floor, and hears the unmistakable sound of an additional, familiar voice in the house, he thinks his heart might stop.

His father had not announced the end of the conference, but Spock should have anticipated this. It has been approaching rapidly for weeks, but he refused to see it. He had forgotten, or perhaps ignored, that the Earth summer would come to an end, and even now the thought of it makes him feel ill.

He forces himself out of bed and into his clothes. He almost selects a Vulcan robe, one he has not worn in quite a while, as evidenced by the residual fold marks when he holds it out, but then thinks of Jim and puts on a sweater instead. It is the soft one that Jim likes, the one he takes the hem of and runs between his fingers, smiling, when they sit together under the shade of his trees.

His parents are sitting in the kitchen. They do not seem to hear Spock as he comes into the living room. He can hear them, though, talking, their voices slightly muted by the wall separating the living room and the kitchen.

As he comes nearer to the entrance, though, and he can hear them more clearly, he has to stop.

Perhaps he simply never noticed before, but the affectionate undercurrent that runs through every word takes him by surprise. In Amanda, it is more prominent, her voice leaning into Sarek lovingly. Sarek is as stoic and indifferent as ever at first glance, but going past that, the gentle rise and fall of his voice betrays him.

Standing in the middle of the living room, his socked feet seeping in the cold of the wooden floors, Spock can almost imagine them as they were before their marriage: young, different. Sarek would have attempted to show his affection in a human way so that Amanda would understand. She would have told him it was not necessary; she already did.

He can hear that in them now, the understanding they have reached, how well they know each other. How much they love each other.

Outside of the uncomfortableness of realizing the true nature of one’s parents’ relationship, Spock remembers Jim. How young their bond is, how, though it feels like they know everything about each other, they likely do not. How Spock has no idea what will happen if he leaves this place, leaves Jim behind. His parents’ soft conversation, mundane and comfortable, brings unwavering attention to the painful end he can all but feel coming like cold air just before a thunderstorm hits.

It is overwhelming.

He is avoiding the inevitable, but he finds, at the moment, that he does not care.

Back in his room, he puts on his boots, ignoring the slight pinch at the toes that signifies his growth since the beginning of the summer. He stands in the middle of the room vacantly, feeling a few seconds tick by, and then grabs his PADD, almost as an afterthought. And then he makes straight for the back door.

He passes the kitchen, and he knows his parents see him leave, but he does not stop or slow down.

Cool air that he has slowly, slowly become almost accustomed to caresses his face as he steps outside, gentle in contrast to the tight grip of anxiety in his chest. As he clambers over the fence, he notices the spot in the chainlink where it has warped with his daily climb, his foot pushing it further out of shape with every coming and going. He feels another clench on his lungs.

Stepping over logs and shallow depressions, Spock begins to pick at his anxiety like one of his mother’s necklaces, tightly tangled from a spell in a pocket or bag, that his fingers have never been nimble enough to pull apart with ease. The threads cross and weave, clinging together in a seemingly impossible labyrinth. Like the necklace, though, he eventually finds a looser knot that, once discovered, helps the whole things straighten out. At the heart of his fear is something cold and hard, the thought that he may be forced to leave Jim behind and never see him again. A terrifying thought, but one that, given a little time, he may be able to think of a solution to.

He steps out of the golden wheat and into the catalpa grove, the streaming sunlight dappling his face the same way it had nearly two months ago, and he is calmer. Jim is waiting for him, after all, and if he can overcome this it will be with him at his side.

* * * * *

He had, at first, been hesitant to tell Jim what had happened. Obviously, he knew he would have to at some point, but bringing something bad into the catalpa grove felt like introducing poison to a beautiful growing thing. He worried, briefly, that outside trouble might scare Jim away, weaken their bond.

But Jim knew Spock was thinking about something big and terrible before he even arrived, so there was no point in hiding it. And even if he could have, he would not. Once he was in Jim’s arms again, he recognized the foolishness of his thoughts.

So he told Jim everything, from his father’s appearance to his fears of being forced to return to Vulcan, the home planet that no longer feels like home - that may never have truly felt like home, he realizes, now that he understands what that even means.

Jim had looked at him, then, eyes uncharacteristically serious, a firm grip on Spock’s arms, and asked, “So what are you gonna do about it?”

That comment spurred him on. He knew he had to convince his mother and father to let him stay, but he had to think about how to go about doing that.

That is what he had said to Jim, and that is what he does, now, as he sits, his legs crossed, on the shore of the quarry lake. Ahead of him, Jim splashes around, looking for clam pearls and frogs. Despite the biting cold of the water, Spock is tempted to join him but stays where he is, only occasionally losing his focus and watching his - bondmate? Are they bondmates?

This question bounces around Spock’s head. The implications of the _t’hy’la_ bond are so nebulous - brother, friend, lover - that it could be anything. _And_ , he thinks, _I do not want another bond with anyone, not after this_.

So, he concludes, yes, they are, for whatever that may mean for them. They are not normal, but they were never normal in the first place, so it is inconsequential.

He puts a new bullet on his PADD. _Bondmates_. The word makes his chest swell with pride. He does not believe in the concept of luck, but if he did, he would think himself lucky to have what he has.

A hint of a smile tugs on Spock’s mouth when Jim turns and waves, shouting and holding up a pearl he finally discovered. Spock sets down his PADD and rolls up his pants to his knees.

He wades into the freezing lake to meet Jim halfway. Goosebumps rise on his arms the second he touches the water, and a shiver ricochets down his spine.

The waves caused by Jim’s graceless splashing slosh over Spock’s legs and darken the front of his pants. He makes a small sound of displeasure, feeling the uncomfortable chill of wet clothing immediately, but turns his attention away when Jim slows in front of him.

“Finally found one,” he says excitedly. “It wasn’t inside a clam, though; it was in the sand by itself. I couldn’t find the clam it came from.”

Spock studies the small, white object, its irregular shape, the way the light reflects off of it in pink and yellow.

“It is quite beautiful.”

Jim presses it into Spock’s hand with a grin.

* * * * *

He goes home early that day. The sun is still high over their heads as they trudge through the wheat field, and they pass a section that has been harvested, shorn away in neat rows. It is strange to see it that way; Spock had quite forgotten that the field would ever look any different.

They cross into the grove wordlessly. Spock can see the cabin in the distance through the leaves.

Jim is worried. Even before their fingers touch, Spock knows. He hides it well on the outside; he acts normal, if not a little more affectionate than usual, but Spock knows his mind as his own.

“I am going to talk to my parents.” Spock holds Jim’s gaze and hand steadily. “They will not separate us. I will not let them.”

Jim exhales and gives him a faint smile. “You figured out what you’re gonna say to them yet?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, “For the most part.”

Jim gives a snort. “‘For the most part.’ Does that mean you’re gonna wing it?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I have a list of specific items I plan to address. I may improvise on my wording as I speak with them, but I do not plan to, in any way, ‘wing it.’”

“No, that’s not really your style anyway.” Warmth like sunshine transmits through their clasped hands.

“Indeed not.”

“Is...Is there anything I can do to help?”

Spock hesitates. He does not want to involve Jim directly, should there be any conflict, but…

“Come with me.”

…He does not want to do this alone.

Jim nods immediately. “Okay.”

Spock releases a breath. “Thank you.”

Jim’s hand is warm, comforting, covered in rough calluses from climbing trees and rocks. It anchors him to the present, keeps him from spiralling into what may be once the day is out. Spock is grateful for him, his presence, and he hopes Jim knows just how much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello to all of you who didn't forget about this little story in the five months where i didn't,,, update,,,,  
> sorry about that. i went through a period where writing for pleasure just wasn't a thing i could do. i have been able to write more consistently recently, so i hope i'll be able to finish this bad boy in a timely manner.  
> speaking of which, this chapter will likely be the penultimate chapter, if not this one then the next. i'm bringing this thing to an end pretty soon (,,,,,,,,hopefully)  
> i hope you all enjoyed this chapter! sorry for the wait and the short-ish chapter. as always, please alert me to any html errors, as it continues to be the bane of my existence. <3


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